Missing TnT Scenes Season Two
by Alelou
Summary: Because we can never have enough! Here's the drill: Open existing episode. Insert missing canon-friendly Trip and T'Pol scene and enjoy. Season two is now complete. If you haven't reviewed yet, this would be a really great time...
1. Shockwave, Part Two

**SHOCKWAVE, PART 2**

**Disclaimer:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. As a missing scene, this story also obviously owes a debt to the episode's writers, Rick Berman and Brannon Braga. It also owes a debt to Chrissie's Transcripts Site, which makes it much easier to work with existing scripts.

**Author's Note:** I felt the perverse desire to play hooky from my real life obligations today, so I'm back to this, though I cannot promise steady production. If you read my missing scenes from season one, you know the drill: because we can never have enough Trip and T'Pol, I take an existing episode and insert a canon-friendly TnT scene into it. I should note that Kotik has already posted some missing scenes for season two (after politely asking my permission, which he really didn't need). I do not intend any offense at all when I say I am just going to ignore those and do my own thing, though I suppose we may overlap at times (I haven't read all of his and at this point I don't plan to until I'm done).

* * *

When the door to his quarters finally slid open, Trip was ready. Malcolm merely nodded at him and left to get into position above the transporter alcove. Trip headed down the corridor to collect T'Pol.

It was the work of a moment to unlock her door. Once inside, though, Trip was surprised to discover T'Pol standing warily in the farthest corner of the room, her bare arms crossed protectively over her chest.

"T'Pol?" he said, uncertainly.

She dropped her arms, but she didn't leave her corner. "Commander."

When he'd finally managed to raise her on the EPS grid, she had told him about her interrogation. Even if she hadn't, it would have been obvious that she'd been drugged or traumatized in some way -- it had been impossible to miss the dazed quality of her conversation. However, her voice had steadied into something approaching normal before he'd looped in Reed and Hoshi and Travis. She had certainly seemed cogent enough as she had relayed Archer's directions and they'd worked out their plan.

Looking at her now, however, it was obvious that -- whatever they might say about it -- Vulcans were not immune from fear. At least, not Vulcans who'd been drugged. But he doubted it would help to address this directly. "Where's your shirt?"

She looked down at her grey camisole, apparently surprised. "I don't know."

What had those bastards done? Had she downplayed the extent of that interrogation? But he really didn't have time to worry about that right now. "Um…you want to get a new one on?" he said, and then added, "Before we go?" She didn't seem to quite realize the urgency involved.

"That would probably be wise," she said, finally leaving her corner and going to her wardrobe to pull out another one of those ugly uniform shirts. He'd often wondered just what the Vulcans thought they were accomplishing with that particular fabric pattern. It didn't seem like useful camouflage in the barren desert setting of Vulcan, or on a starship. It certainly didn't hide her figure. Maybe on a forest floor or a planet full of dead brush it would come in handy. Or maybe it simply hid plomeek broth stains well. He swallowed a grin at the thought of Vulcans ever spilling anything on themselves. He was tempted to ask her about it, just to tease her a little, but then he decided he didn't dare distract her from the mission. "All set?" he asked, as soon as she'd tugged down her shirt.

"I believe time is of the essence," she said. Her face was quite pale and she still hadn't moved to the door.

Unfortunately, this plan required T'Pol to put herself in harm's way. Normally, that wouldn't have been an issue.

"Don't worry," he said, and just barely resisted the impulse to reach out and give her a reassuring pat. "Malcolm and I will have your back." He directed a scanner down the corridor. "It's all clear. Ready?"

He looked back at her. Her nod was tiny and his heart contracted just a bit. No, he thought, she really wasn't ready at all.

He had planned on getting a head start, enough to get into position with Malcolm before she arrived, but he made a last-minute adjustment. "Come on, then," he said, and took her hand, pulling her along behind him as he headed out.

It only occurred to him when they got to the Transporter Alcove, and he left her there to climb up into the ceiling overhead, that she hadn't objected to his touch or attempted to pull away. Not that it was much of a distance they'd had to cover, but still -- well, it was obviously just one more indication that she wasn't herself.

"Is she okay?" Malcolm whispered.

"I think so," Trip whispered back. They could hear her muttering nonsensically below them. It was part of the plan for her to appear still drugged, but it nonetheless raised the hairs on the back of his neck to hear T'Pol talking crazy like that.

"Someone's coming," Malcolm hissed, and both men tensed, getting ready to jump.

This has to work, Trip thought. He wanted their ship back, their captain back, their engines back, and their mission back. He also wanted their Vulcan first officer's usual cool self-possession back.

Somehow, losing them had made them each more precious to him than ever.


	2. Carbon Creek

**Spoilers: **_Carbon Creek _-- and it won't make any sense if you haven't seen it.

**Disclaimer:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. (As a missing scene, this story also obviously owes a debt to the episode's writers, Rick Berman, Brannon Braga, Dan O'Shannon and Chris Black.)

**Author's Note:** Wanted to see if the last one was just a fluke or I could really work with Season Two. Apparently, it's not impossible. Unfortunately, now I really have to slow down and get my other work done. Thank you so much, reviewers. You make it worthwhile!

* * *

T'Pol was not entirely sure why she had decided to tell her second foremother's story to Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. Perhaps it was something about Tucker's skeptical, "if it's a good one" -- as if he didn't believe she was capable of it.

She enjoyed telling it far more than she had anticipated, so much so that she failed to notice she was including more details than she probably should have. Realization came when she noticed Tucker's eyes widen in disbelief, and was confirmed soon after, when he interrupted her. "Wait a minute, now. Are you saying Mestral and Maggie MADE OUT? A Vulcan and a Human, kissing in the front seat of a car?"

T'Pol gave him her coolest glance. "I have noticed that Humans often bestow kisses quite casually in greeting or parting."

Tucker grinned broadly. "Yeah, Humans do -- but Vulcans? Vulcans don't kiss at all. Or do they?"

She saw no need to dignify that with an answer, especially since she wasn't entirely sure of the answer. Certainly she had never witnessed such behavior in public, and Vulcans did not speculate about what was done in private. "It is likely that Mestral was taken by surprise."

Trip was still grinning. "But he didn't jump out of the car and run for his life. So we've not only got first contact decades before we thought, we've got a Human and a Vulcan kissing in a car." He turned to Archer. "You know, that just makes my whole night."

Archer said, "I wouldn't get too excited. A goodnight kiss hardly counts as making out." Then he grinned too. "Much as we might like it to."

Tucker laughed, then leaned back towards her. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, "Does this mean that whole only mating every seven years thing is a load of crap, too?"

She was not going to be provoked into talking about something so private. "Do you prefer to engage in puerile speculation about Vulcan mating habits or to hear the rest of the story?"

"I _guess_ the story," Trip said. He leaned back in his chair with arms folded and grinned again. "Especially the parts about Maggie and Mestral."

"I did not realize that you were such a fan of romance, Commander," T'Pol said. "If that is what you are expecting, I fear you will be disappointed."

x x x

After she had left the captain's mess, she had heard Commander Tucker trotting after her in the corridor to catch up. "That really was quite a story," he said, a little breathlessly, as they walked together to the turbolift.

She said nothing. What was there to say?

The doors slid open and he followed her in. He stared at the door and said, "Of course, it would have been a lot more satisfying if he'd admitted he was staying for Maggie."

This was perhaps as good a time as any to clarify a few matters for Commander Tucker. "That would have been highly implausible. Vulcans believe that romance is a poor foundation for successful relationships. Also, their relative life spans would have made it a most unsuitable match. Maggie was presumably approaching middle age. Mestral had not married yet, so we can assume he was quite young. He would have expected to outlive her by at least a century."

"Oh." Tucker looked a little disconcerted. "Still, if two people love each other…"

The doors slid open to B deck. "Vulcans believe that lasting marital affection grows out of shared experiences and mutual respect. Your own scientists have long documented that romantic infatuation derived from physical attraction seldom lasts. No doubt this explains the relative impermanence of Human relationships."

Tucker frowned. "They're not _all_ impermanent."

They arrived at her door. "No," T'Pol said. "However, there can be no argument that, statistically speaking, Humans experience a great many more failed relationships than Vulcans do. I believe you have experienced this phenomenon yourself." She thumbed her door control, anxious to leave the engineer to his own reflections. She had begun to suspect that he took an interest in her that was more than professional, although she was not certain it went beyond that friendship Humans seemed to find so necessary in the workings of their daily lives. For her own part, she had become conscious of having more of an attachment to him than she did to anyone else on the ship. This was unlikely to be a good thing, even if it was perhaps to be expected, given that Tucker knew more about her and also seemed to be a great deal more interested in her than the others were.

Therefore this little dose of Vulcan reality might be salutary for both of them.

But Tucker was not to be dismissed so easily. "But, T'Pol, don't you see that you've done exactly the same thing Mestral did? You spurned the man chosen for you in order to stay here, with us … the smelly Humans." He grinned.

She put her hand in the door to prevent it from closing. She wasn't going to give him the last word on this. "It is not the same at all, Commander. Once he made his decision, Mestral had no way to return home. I can depart whenever I wish. Obviously, my second foremother ultimately _did_ go back to Vulcan in fulfillment of her duty. If she hadn't, I wouldn't exist."

"But you told me you may never marry now. So where does that leave you, if you want any great grandchildren to tell _your_ stories to?"

Where indeed? "I believe it leaves me retiring to my quarters for rest and meditation," she said firmly, conscious that her voice was also betraying some degree of testiness.

He looked solemnly at her, and she felt that unfortunate, impractical sensation of attachment flare up between them, so strong that it almost felt like a measurable physical phenomenon -- which was ridiculous and impossible. For a moment, crazily, she wondered if he was thinking about leaning forward and kissing her, though of course he did no such thing.

She must be much more intoxicated than she had thought.

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, good night, then."

He turned to leave, and she let the door slide shut.

x x x

Later that night, after some much-needed meditation, she stared down at T'Mir's old purse. It was not logical to carry this family heirloom about with her, but she supposed that in some hard-to-define way it spoke to her own desire to explore … and helped her realize that she was not alone among her people in possessing it.

She smoothed her fingers over the texture of the bag. Mestral had indeed told her second foremother that his decision had nothing to do with Maggie, but T'Pol had decided not to share with Tucker and Archer that T'Mir had not believed him in the slightest. "He was quite irrationally smitten with her -- with all of them, the whole of Humanity," the old woman had said, her knotted, ancient hands clasped tightly together as if the situation could still provoke tension in her all these years later. "I am sure he came to regret his rash decision. His slow aging would have forced him to remain itinerant for the rest of his life. He must have kept his word and escaped notice, since we can find no record of him. Neither, however, can we find any trace of his studies. So his life's work disappeared into nothing; he ultimately made no contribution to the knowledge of his own people. His life was wasted."

"He saved those miners," young T'Pol had pointed out. "And he kept you from starving."

"Yes. Of course, he risked contaminating the natural development of an entire sentient species in order to do it."

"But you helped him."

"I did," the old lady had said softly. "I was younger then. With more experience, I might have chosen otherwise. Not that he would have listened to me. He was quite stubborn."

"On the whole he strikes me as rather admirable," T'Pol had said.

T'Mir had cocked her wizened head at her. "Think carefully about what you admire in others, child. It can lead you to places you never intended."

T'Pol wrapped the purse back up and put it back in its place in her quarters on a Human starship.

Yes, that was undoubtedly true.


	3. Minefield

**Spoilers:** Minefield -- and it won't make sense without it.

**Disclaimer:** All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount, not me. (As a missing scene, this story also obviously owes a debt to the episode's writer, John Shiban.)

* * *

Trip sat irritably at Malcolm's board, watching for their enemy and keeping an eye on the repair reports his staff were sending in. He folded his arms and glared down at the panel in front of him. There was really no way around it.

The captain had just made a really dumb decision based on emotion, not logic.

He looked up at T'Pol, who was sitting in the command chair with most of her attention focused on Travis, as if she could somehow help him fly _Enterprise_ out of the alien minefield through sheer force of will.

That wasn't exactly logical either, but he could understand it better than abandoning one's command to go out on the hull to deal with a mine and a man down when there was a dangerous enemy threatening to destroy them at any moment. Trip would have been the better choice out there … and so would any senior member of Malcolm's armory crew.

Jon's decision especially rankled since his excuse -- the need to have the Chief Engineer on board -- didn't exactly hold water when said Chief Engineer was stuck on the Bridge manning Tactical.

"T'Pol," he called softly, reluctant to leave his board even long enough to consult with her. Who knew when their enemy would reappear?

She looked over, and he beckoned with his head.

She came over, leaning against the handle in front of his station until their heads were close enough together for a private conversation. "Commander?"

He lowered his voice even further. He certainly didn't want her to think he was trying to be insubordinate. "How about we get one of Malcolm's guys here so I can go supervise repairs?"

"It is my understanding that Engineering and Tactical cross-train extensively."

Trip scowled. "I'm not saying I _can't _do it. I'm saying I'm needed more elsewhere."

T'Pol stared at him for a moment. "Commander, just as the captain values having his first officer available for consultation during sensitive encounters, so I _also_ value the presence of a second."

That surprised him -- although now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure why. "You mean you'd actually take my advice?" he asked, so pleased that he couldn't help responding with a tease.

"Stranger things have happened," she said, with the lift of an eyebrow, and returned to the captain's chair.

Trip grinned and settled in with a little more patience for whatever the day would bring.

x x x

They left Hoshi in sickbay and walked back towards the bridge in an efficient silence, but Trip couldn't help sneaking glances at his companion.

She'd really stiffened up at learning that ship was Romulan. And she'd known how to pronounce the name better than Hoshi. What was up with that? "So the High Command hasn't had direct contact with them before, huh?"

"As I said."

"And you?"

T'Pol stopped dead. "I _report_ to the High Command, Mr. Tucker. If I had any more information about our attackers that I thought would help, I surely would have informed the captain. Do you doubt that?"

"Of course not." Still, there was something a little odd about the way she'd put that. "How about information that you _don't _think would help?"

She flushed just the slightest green. "Are you questioning my loyalty, Commander Tucker?"

"No," he said, "Of course not. I--"

"If these Romulans are indeed as aggressive as they are rumored to be, we are fortunate to have received any reprieve from immediate destruction. I think it would benefit the mission if you could focus on our escape, rather than brooding over any questions you might have about _me_."

His mouth opened to reply, but no words came.

She took off down the corridor, so he followed.

What the hell had just happened?

Still, she was right. He couldn't afford to wonder what the hell was going on with her until _Enterprise_ was safely away. And it wasn't that he didn't trust T'Pol. He did trust T'Pol.

Probably it was nothing. Just another one of those endless Human/Vulcan misunderstandings.

Yes, probably that was it.


	4. Dead Stop

**Spoilers:** Dead Stop (and it won't make sense without it)

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. (As a missing scene, this story also obviously owes a debt to the episode's writers, Michael Sussman and Phyllis Strong.)

* * *

She found him halfway into a Jeffries tube that had been a crushed wreck just hours before. It gave her an excellent view of the engineer's well-developed gluteus maximus -- not that such irrelevant details ought to command any of her attention. Perhaps that was why her voice came out a little more harshly than she intended when she said, "Commander Tucker!"

There was a loud thump and a muttered curse.

She really must try to remember not to startle the man when he was in close confines. He was already far too prone to injury. "The captain wants your opinion of the quality of the repairs being performed," she said, more softly.

He backed out of the tube and straightened into something approaching attention, though he was also rubbing the side of his head. "The work is flawless. I can't find the slightest variance or defect."

"The captain will be pleased."

Tucker gave her a skeptical look.

T'Pol said, "You don't believe he welcome such a report?"

"All I know is, it's kinda freaky when an anonymous machine can do in minutes what a crew of Humans would take days to complete, _and_ do it better. If you watch a lot of movies, you know it never bodes well. It's like… I don't know … science fiction plot B2, or something."

T'Pol tilted her head, puzzled. "_Enterprise's_ computer completes many routine and labor-intensive tasks much faster than Humans could, but you don't appear to consider _it '_creepy'."

"No, but if I'd traveled through time from two hundred or three hundred years ago, I probably would." He sighed. "We're just not used to this level of expertise from a machine. I also can't help wondering what kind of fleet we could build if we had something like this back home. Which makes me wonder … why is it so isolated out here? Why isn't the joint hopping with business?"

"Perhaps its programming does not encompass building new designs from other civilizations. This area of space is also a great distance from any habitable planets."

"Granted, but just having this available as a repair facility ought to be enough to make the place very popular. People ought to be _fighting_ over it."

She sometimes forgot that Humans remained quite primitive; it should not have surprised her that the engineer would immediately leap from recognition of a valuable resource to thoughts of strategic competition and even violence. It would be interesting to see if the captain shared Tucker's point of view. "Your literary and political concerns aside, I can report to the captain that you feel the repairs are sound?"

"Yes, absolutely. Good thing, too. Guess we really shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?"

_Gift horse in the mouth? _She would have to look that one up. She would have asked, but the captain was waiting for his report. Besides, it was her experience that Commander Tucker's explanations for his colorful figures of speech were only correct about half the time. She was not sure if this was because he did not, in fact, know the etymology of such phrases, or because he so enjoyed -- and this figure of speech she had learned early in their voyage -- _pulling her leg._

x x x

Tucker was running his scanner over the damaged EPS grid in a markedly listless way. All the Humans had been struck with grief and anger at the loss of their helmsman, which was understandable. Indeed, it appeared the captain had decided to completely disregard Reed and Tucker's dangerous behavior on the repair station, though it was possible he had merely decided to delay their punishment. "Have you found anything?" she asked, trying to prompt him back to his usual degree of fierce attention to such matters.

Tucker just shook his head impatiently. "I already scanned it twice. I'm not going to find anything."

"Then…"

"I have to do _something_," he said. "Besides, it appears we'll be repairing this panel ourselves, so I might as well figure out what needs doing." He stopped scanning and turned to her. "It doesn't make any sense, T'Pol. Even if Travis somehow caused this damage by being here at the wrong time, why would the station leave it in this condition?"

"Perhaps it concluded that we would wish to retrieve the body."

Tucker's face darkened. "Mighty accommodatin' of it. If it knew that much, then why didn't it just stop when Travis came in here?"

"I don't know."

Tucker's voice rose and he began to gesticulate. "And why the hell would Travis come in here? He's not like me or Malcolm. I've never even seen him try to _bend_ a rule."

"The behavior does seem most uncharacteristic."

"Maybe _this_ is why nobody's fighting over this place."

She stared at him a moment, trying to follow his logic. "Are you suggesting the station deliberately committed murder?"

"It makes more sense than Travis coming into a restricted area when he's off-duty and accidentally frying himself!"

"Perhaps your fondness for science fiction movies is affecting your judgment in this matter. I cannot imagine what possible motivation the station would have to kill one of our crewmen – especially since it did not harm to you or Mr. Reed despite your intrusion into restricted areas."

Tucker grimaced. "I know. But look…what if it's a way to keep people from visiting too often? Because this place looks like a real bargain, unless, say… you discover you're going to have give up a crewman's life every time you stop by."

"There are some cultures that would happily trade someone's life for such services."

"Well, maybe those cultures get offered a different payment structure. Or maybe it's the fact that you don't know who's going to be the one… that could definitely make even the meanest sons of bitches think twice… because it could be _them_. It'd be like playing Russian roulette."

"Russian roulette?"

He opened his mouth for a moment, then shut it. He said, "I don't think there's any way I can explain that to a Vulcan. You already think we'renuts. Even Humans think it's nuts."

She waited, but he still didn't explain. It would be something else for her to look up, then. She said, "The problem with your theory is that if the station did not wish to be visited again, it could simply say so. Or, more basically, it could simply refuse to make any further repairs."

He looked at her for a moment. "You're right. But that still leaves us with the fact that this makes no sense."

"Then perhaps we should keep looking for an explanation," she said mildly, and returned to her own scans.

Tucker returned to his scans with a scowl. It was clear he wasn't satisfied.

In truth, she was not satisfied either. Travis Mayweather's death rankled; quite beyond any sense of personal loss that she might have already carefully put away for dispassionate consideration later, his death was an affront against order.

Commander Tucker was correct. It made no sense.

However much they might differ, it appeared that expecting the universe to make sense was something Humans and Vulcans had in common.


	5. A Night in Sickbay

**Spoiler:** "A Night in Sickbay" – including reference to a deleted scene you can read at the wonderful Chrissie's Transcript Site (along with the rest of the script).

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. (This scene also obviously owes a debt to the episode's writers, Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.)

**Author's Note: **If you don't see any more chapters go up here, you might want to check for them at Triaxian Silk. (I get feedback there.)

* * *

Trip went to the mess hall at lunch time a happy man. He had his new plasma injector – and two spares to boot. The captain had swallowed his pride, or whatever it was, and done what was necessary to keep _Enterprise _shipshape. The malfunctioning injector still concerned him, because it suggested the others might also soon experience problems. But at least for now, the pressure was off.

He was still dead tired after an abbreviated night's sleep, which meant that he was strung out on coffee and craving sugar and solitude. He added a slice of pie to his lunch tray and took it over to a quiet corner of the room, where if he was lucky he could relax quietly before heading back to what he hoped would be an extremely uneventful afternoon shift spent disassembling the bad injector.

"May I join you?"

The science officer stood before him with her usual lunch of salad and water.

"Sure," he said, proud that he had not allowed even the slightest hesitation to enter his voice. And it _was _okay, really. When they weren't sparring – and Trip was in no mood for sparring today – T'Pol was usually a restful companion. She would probably appreciate a Vulcan-style meal without conversation.

"You look fatigued, Commander."

Or perhaps not. "I _am_ a little tired," he admitted. "The captain had me out of bed in the middle of the night to ask about the plasma injectors, and then I couldn't get back to sleep."

There was another, longer stretch of silence, long enough that Trip had decided they were going to eat in quiet companionship after all, when she said, "I don't believe I have ever seen the captain quite so irrational and irritable as he has been during this mission."

Trip took a deep breath. Apparently she actually needed to talk about work with him, and that was rare enough that he really shouldn't mind it. He was also tempted to simply vent his own frustrations with Jon's recent behavior, but that wouldn't help anything. "His dog was sick. When Humans are worried about someone close to them, they can get a little, um, dysfunctional."

"I fail to understand why Starfleet allow pets aboard starships."

Trip grinned. "They don't. I don't think the cap'n ever asked; he just made it clear he was going to do it. Rank has its privileges."

She stared down at her salad for a moment, before asking, "Does this mean the captain is also free to disregard non-fraternization policies if he wishes?"

Trip raised his eyebrows. "He's never been much of a stickler for them that I've noticed. Is there something in particular that concerns you?"

"This morning he made some reference to the tensions that can arise between officers of the opposite sex."

Trip stared at her, utterly nonplussed. He couldn't help remembering the captain's very weird middle-of-the-night question about how long it had been.

"It was in the context of apologizing to me for his behavior," T'Pol added.

Trip said nothing. He was too busy replaying over a year's worth of impressions of Jon in relation to T'Pol and wondering if he'd missed something. He'd never seen the slightest sign of attraction there, on either side, but maybe he was just oblivious?

"Do you think I should be concerned?" T'Pol asked.

With some effort, Trip refocused on his lunch companion. "About?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "That the captain might pursue, or expect…"

"Oh, no," Trip said. "No, he would never… Hell, that's probably why he has Porthos in the first place."

T'Pol stared at him. "He keeps the dog as a sexual partner?"

"Oh, no, no! Nothing like that!" Trip laughed uncomfortably. "No. God. Humans keep dogs so they'll have a friend … a companion … a creature they can be affectionate with … NOT sexually, just … you know, petting and hanging around with. You already know that Humans have an emotional need for companionship. And a captain by definition is going to be fairly isolated. Porthos probably just helps the cap'n, you know, not get too lonely out here. Not too lonely and not too cranky."

Which made Trip wonder: What if the captain really _did _have a thing for T'Pol – but it was something he'd never even consider acting on unless he was reeling from the potential loss of his beloved dog? It would be understandable. They worked together _a lot._ Not to mention T'Pol was gorgeous, and brilliant, and loyal, and brave, and had those beautiful brown eyes you felt you could sink right into…

Don't even go there, Tucker. _Especially_ if the captain had his eye on her.

"It's not like you'd ever consider it in a million years anyway, right?" he said, as flippantly as he could. "Him being a smelly Human and not very logical and all."

She just raised an eyebrow, and returned her attention to her salad.

Trip looked at her head bent over her meal and felt a stab of pure loneliness.

He wished _he_ had a dog.


	6. Marauders

**SPOILERS: **"Marauders"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. This also obviously owes a debt to the original episode's writers — Rick Berman, Brannon Braga, and David Wilcox.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thanks to JustTrip'n for her ongoing help, especially with this one, which made me want to tear my hair out. Also, of course, any reviews are very welcome.

* * *

She and the captain and Lt. Reed were discussing additional precautions the colonists could take against hostile visitors when Commander Tucker poked his head in the door and beckoned the captain with a slight nod. Archer said, "Excuse me" and headed over to the chief engineer.

She heard Tucker say, "Cap'n, when we first landed I told our young friend Q'Ell that I would give him a tour of _Enterprise_. Any chance I could make good on that before we go?"

"E'lis doesn't mind?"

"She wants to go along, too."

"It's fine with me, but don't make it too leisurely. I want to break orbit by 1800."

T'Pol compared the relative merits of remaining here in a discussion that was being ably handled by the captain and tactical officer, or returning to a ship that had been mostly without its senior officers for the last four days. When Archer rejoined them, she said, "Perhaps I should return to the ship as well."

Archer nodded his agreement, no doubt already distracted by his effort to rejoin the discussion, so T'Pol hurried to follow the engineer.

x x x

"Sub-Commander," Tucker said in greeting. She had caught up to his little group just as they reached the shuttle pod. "I'm going to give a tour of _Enterprise _to our friends here."

"So I heard," T'Pol said, and he gestured her into the pod.

Tucker closed the hatch and sat down in the pilot's seat. "I think I need to remember that Vulcans can hear a whole lot more than Humans do."

The boy Q'Ell stared curiously at her ears. "If you're not from the same species, how come you're with them?" he asked, prompting an embarrassed "_Hush!" _from his mother.

But T'Pol considered it a reasonable question. "Vulcans have been in space much longer than Humans. We have a strategic interest in helping Humans to succeed in this phase of their development."

"In other words, Sub-Commander T'Pol came along to help us keep from screwing up." Tucker's drawl had grown more pronounced, often an indication that he was about to launch one of his little conversational torpedoes. "Not that we always take her advice. Vulcans are _very_ cautious."

She could hardly let that stand. "Humans, on the other hand, can be quite reckless."

"Can they?" E'lis said. Her tone was a bit grim.

T'Pol suddenly understood that in her zeal to counter Commander Tucker's remark she had unwittingly raised the woman's concerns, and hurried to correct her error. "Sometimes the Human willingness to take risks can have positive results. Klingons never back down from a battle when it is a matter of honor, but they also do not consider it honorable to lose their lives for mere commercial gain. I do not anticipate that you will experience further difficulties from Korok or his crew."

E'lis did not say anything, but her expression lightened.

Her boy's face, however, had twisted into an unpleasant scowl. "Why didn't we kill them when we had the chance? After all, _they _killed …" And he stopped, choked with emotion.

E'lis pulled him into a hug, burying the boy's face in her chest. T'Pol noted that she did not attempt to dissuade him from his opinion. Perhaps she felt the same way.

Tucker said, "I could understand feeling like that after what happened to your daddy and the others. But we couldn't have helped you if that was what you wanted."

Their passengers said nothing. Tucker shot T'Pol an anxious look.

"Humans and Vulcans both seek to avoid any unnecessary loss of sentient life," T'Pol said. "Although we do, of course, regret your loss."

More silence. Tucker's eyes met hers again: _What now?_

_What, indeed?_ Fortunately, at that moment _Enterprise_ came into view and proved to be a sufficient distraction.

x x x

She did not, of course, accompany Tucker and his guests on the tour when she could instead address the growing backlog in her regular duties. He had let her know that he would end the tour in the mess hall, so she went there when it was time to return to the planet. Mother and son were sampling a sweet confection Tucker called "Rocky Road" ice cream and exchanging an amused analysis of its unusual features.

Tucker smiled a welcome to her, then excused himself from the others and pulled her aside. "Do you really think they'll be safe down there?" he asked softly.

"I doubt they will be any more in danger than they were when we found them. Small, undefended colonies where valuable resources are being produced are always at risk."

"But what you said about the Klingons was true?"

"Of course."

He looked intently at her, and she had to tamp down a spark of irritation. After P'Jem, she could no longer confidently declare that Vulcans did not lie, but surely he did not think that _she _would?

"I hope you're right," he said. "I'd feel terrible if anything happened to them." He turned and his eyes lingered on the boy. Once again, Tucker had quickly formed an affectionate bond with an alien, though she felt this particular relationship was less of a threat to the smooth operation of _Enterprise_ than some of his past entanglements.

"You appear to relate well with children," she observed, although even as she said it she wondered if it might not be more accurate to say he related well with people in general: aliens of almost all species (though there was little hope of pleasing a Kreetassan), children, beautiful young females, wizened elders, itinerant traders, religious pilgrims, the senior officers above him and the enlisted crewmen below.

His cheeks had flushed just the slightest bit pink. "There's nothing special about it," he said. "You just take them as they come, same as anyone."

Was that it, then? Was that the secret of what Captain Archer had once described to her as "the Tucker charm"? Was it simply that Tucker accepted a person as he was?

T'Pol felt something finally click into place in her understanding of their chief engineer. Indeed, this was his operational mode with _everyone_. Although it was strangely seductive – that feeling that he saw you and understood you and accepted you exactly as you were, as opposed to the many others who were generally content with a much more glancing acquaintance – in truth it did not indicate any special status in your relationship with him at all. It was simply the way he was.

"I believe it's time we departed," she said smoothly. "If you would collect your guests, Commander."

She watched him go over and saw how the boy smiled, basking in that attention. E'lis looked charmed, too. How effortlessly Tucker shepherded them on their way, back to their uncertain future on a lonely planet.

It would be exactly the same between him and her someday, when this posting was over. He would wish her well – and truly mean it – and then move on.

She must remember that.


	7. The Seventh

SPOILERS: "The Seventh"

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. This also obviously owes a debt to the original episode's writers, Rick Berman and Brannon Braga (even if it was mostly because they irritated the hell out of me with it). Thanks to jT for ongoing beta.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews much appreciated, thank you.

* * *

Great. Just great. He'd just been forced to tell bald-faced lies on behalf of two senior officers who hadn't even trusted him enough to let him know where the hell they were going.

Which meant he was really on his own here, goddamn it. "Hoshi, hail Captain Tavek again for me."

Hoshi looked surprised, but complied.

"Captain?" the Vulcan on the screen asked.

"I take it you are here to rendezvous with Sub-Commander T'Pol when she completes her business in the system?"

The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow. "Yes."

"My tactical officer wants to do some routine maintenance. Since I'm not privileged with more information about our first officer's mission, perhaps you could tell me if taking our warp engines offline might, in your judgment, represent any risk to us or the Sub-Commander?"

"None that I am aware of," Tavek said. "We will be standing by in any case."

"Thank you," Trip said, and signaled Hoshi to close the channel. He scowled over at Malcolm. "Go ahead and do your worst, Lieutenant. I'll be in sickbay."

x x x

"What's the worst case with those side-effects, Phlox? The chief engineer is also the chief plumber. Are we going to suddenly have a critical shortage of toilets?"

"No, no, I fear I may have overstated the issue," Phlox said. "And I can treat those symptoms in any case."

"And the virus itself?"

"_That_ can result in a full week's illness, with a much worse case of the symptoms I mentioned, including some respiratory risk."

Trip sighed. "All right, then, go ahead and start the inoculations. How about staggering them so we don't lose an entire shift to the collywobbles at the same time?"

"_Collywobbles_?" Phlox appeared delighted with the term. "Certainly, I could stagger the administration. Shall I give you yours now, as long as you're here?"

Trip sighed again. "Might as well."

x x x

By the time the away team returned, the torpedoes had been re-aligned, the impulse reactors had been purged, and the crew had been fully inoculated against that lymphatic virus.

Archer not only remained mum, he didn't sound even the slightest bit repentant about it. But that was nothing new, was it? Still, Trip suspected he was at least a little ashamed, because instead of coming to Engineering himself he just called down from the Bridge.

Or perhaps he feared Trip would have a better shot of worming it out of him if they spoke in person. It would be a reasonable fear – certainly getting the real story was now on Trip's list of things to do, even if it took years and the right bottle of bourbon in the right place to achieve it.

Of course, he shouldn't have to resort to such low tactics.

If there was any justice in the universe_, _Archer would be one of the ones to get the nausea and diarrhea when Phlox inoculated him. Trip had experienced nothing more than a mild stomach ache himself. He wasn't sure if that was from the inoculation or just from profound irritation.

x x x

That night he couldn't sleep, so he got up and went to the mess hall for a glass of milk and piece of pie. He wanted soothing.

It just figured that _she_ was there, even in the middle of the night. Trip almost turned right around and left, but that would look too childish. Instead he got his milk and his slice of pecan pie and sat down at the nearest table – nowhere near hers – with his back to her. As always, she had her trusty Padd; he certainly wasn't going to interfere with what might well be a classified report.

Damn, but he was angry. He was so angry he was practically vibrating with it.

So much for being soothed. He'd be lucky to get any sleep at all now. He stabbed his fork into his pie and took a bite, willing it to provide some comfort, or at least some distraction from that other presence in the room, but it tasted like cardboard.

Then she was standing there next to him. "Commander, you're up late."

He offered her his blandest expression. "Can I help you, Sub-Commander?"

She looked back at him with those soulful eyes that had once made him believe there was something more between them than the simple requirements of their respective posts. She said, "Did anything occur during my absence that I should know about?"

"I'm sure anything of note would be in the log."

She blinked. "You're upset."

"Now why on Earth would I be upset?" He went ahead and let the sarcasm drip. If she wanted to have it out, that was fine with him. They could have it out. Clear the air.

"I don't know," she said. She appeared to be genuinely puzzled.

But there was nothing to have out, was there? She didn't have a clue. This was just so pointless in so many ways that it was pathetic. "You know, I think I've had enough," he said, and got up. "Good night, Sub-Commander."

He put away his tray of barely-touched food, conscious of her just standing there and watching him, and stalked out of the mess.

He'd been a fool, but he could learn.


	8. The Communicator

SPOILERS: _The Communicator_

DISCLAIMER: Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Rick Berman, Brannon Braga and André Bormanis.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks as always to jT for trusty beta and to reviewers for that all-important care and feeding. It means a lot to me.

* * *

Once Captain Archer determined that he had not, in fact, lost his scanner, T'Pol attempted to organize the cramped passengers of the Suliban cell ship for their imminent arrival at the shuttle pod. There was no sign that it had been discovered, but their escape would have triggered a massive search. "I can pilot the shuttle pod back to _Enterprise_, Captain," T'Pol said. "You will need Mr. Mayweather's experience at the helm here."

"I can fly this thing, too," Tucker said, sounding a touch offended. "Who do you think figured out how it worked in the first place?"

Archer said, "I can't speak for Malcolm, but I'd rather pilot the pod back myself. It's a little crowded in here."

"You're going to run into hostile fire," Tucker warned. "We accidentally de-cloaked long enough to get their ire up on the way down."

"That is precisely why I believe it would be best to keep your attention free on the trip back," T'Pol told him.

He gave her a dark look but held his tongue.

"I believe the shuttle pod's defenses are more than equal to anything they want to throw at us," Mr. Reed said. "Besides, I'd like to finish the job we started."

"Then perhaps it would be best to leave your equipment here with us," T'Pol said.

Archer grimaced. "You think we'll fall right back into their hands? Have a little faith, T'Pol."

She said nothing. It struck her as unfair to accuse her of not 'having a little faith' when she had agreed to use a spacecraft they barely knew how to fly on a rescue mission straight into the heart of a well-armed prison camp. It also struck her as incredibly fortunate that nobody had been killed or injured in the process.

"We're here," Mayweather announced. After a quick scan to ensure they were not being watched, Archer and Reed exited the cell ship and ran to the pod.

"Let's go, Ensign," T'Pol said.

"Don't you want to make sure they get off the ground?" Mayweather said.

"I suppose I'll just have a little faith," she said, which made Tucker snort, although he didn't look at her.

She watched him ease back over to the panel he'd monitored on the way down. After checking to ensure that Archer had, in fact, gotten the shuttle pod launched, she decided to satisfy her curiosity. "Why are you wearing a glove on one hand, Commander?"

He took the glove off and showed her an empty sleeve. For a moment she just stared. But then, judging from his slightly amused affect and the lack of a report from Dr. Phlox, she concluded that he had not, in fact, somehow suffered a catastrophic amputation. "Your hand is cloaked?"

"Yup. Had a little accident earlier when we were trying to get the cloak working."

"Will it wear off?"

"I sure hope so," he said. "These gloves are sweaty."

"I told him an invisible hand could come in handy at movie night if he had a date," Mayweather said.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "And if that joke didn't work with me, what the hell made you think it might work any better with her?"

"I still think it's funny."

"How is it a joke?" T'Pol said, honestly curious. She was puzzled not only about that, but about Tucker's use of 'her' when she was sitting right there. It was her understanding that this constituted a breach of etiquette, if a minor one … and that was most unlike him … or had been, until recently. His manner towards her, while never unprofessional, had turned noticeably cooler after her classified mission to capture Menos.

Tucker just shook his head. "It's not. Forget about it."

Not very long ago, she had concluded that Tucker treated everyone as if they were special, which meant that she should not conclude it meant anything particular if he gave her that kind of attention. But now she knew that in fact he did _not_ treat everyone that way, because he had certainly stopped treating her as anything more than a person he had to work with – and a somewhat tiresome person, at that.

"It's because you could steal popcorn," Mayweather finally offered, perhaps after finding the long silence a bit awkward.

"I see," T'Pol said, although she really didn't.


	9. Singularity

**SPOILERS:** Singularity

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Chris Black.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thanks to **jT** for beta and to the reviewers for making me happy.

* * *

Trip wondered what the hell he was doing lying on the deck. He groggily raised himself up. "Did we get some nice pictures of the black hole?" he asked. That had been what they were doing, right?

Archer stared back at him from the helm. The helm? What was he doing at the helm? Not to mention, the man looked awful. "Cap'n?" Trip said uncertainly, not so much because he hadn't gotten an answer as because it was clear he was badly out of the loop on something.

"I wouldn't know," Archer said, and turned to the science station. "T'Pol?"

"We collected quite a bit of data including a number of images," she said. "Are you all right, Commander?"

"Uh huh," he said, and sat down rather heavily in his chair. He felt utterly discombobulated. What the hell was he doing here? Where was the rest of the crew? But then he heard another groan, and Malcolm beginning to fumble to sit up at his station. Another crewman back in the situation room slowly got to her knees.

Wait a minute. He squinted at the empty place where the captain's chair should be.

The chair…

Oh, damn. The chair.

"I get it. You're sitting there because I haven't fixed your chair," he said heavily. He'd failed -- that much was clear. This felt a little bit like one of those nightmares in which he'd discover that he'd royally screwed up something extremely basic like, say, anti-matter containment.

"Actually I'm sitting here because we had to get the hell away from that black hole before everybody died. It was doing something bad to our brains. Except T'Pol's. Apparently her brain is immune to whatever weird OCD radiation that black hole was spewing."

"OCD radiation?"

"The captain is referring to the way everyone on board began to exhibit obsessive-compulsive behavior," T'Pol said. "The captain became obsessed with his preface. Lt. Reed became obsessed with security protocols. You became obsessed with fixing the captain's chair."

"If I was so obsessed, why the hell didn't I get the damned thing done?" Trip said, confusedly checking the chronometer. He had no memory of that much time passing. "It's a _chair_."

"I believe you were attempting to create the most fully-functional captain's chair in the history of the universe," she replied.

The hyperbole made Trip stare at her. Archer had turned in surprise as well.

She looked blandly back at them. "Captain, I believe it would make sense to request damage and casualty reports from every department."

"Agreed," Archer said, and sighed heavily. "But something tells me it may take us awhile to get them."

"Indeed," she said, and set to work at her console.

Still feeling profoundly out of sorts, Trip did as much as he could to assess status from his. Thankfully there didn't seem to be any crisis brewing in the ship's systems, although it did appear that someone had industriously dismantled every radiation detector in one section of C deck.

If his team was feeling the way he was, they were probably in need of some reassurance about now. "I'm gonna head down to engineering, Cap'n," he said.

"Okay," Archer said, busy at the helm.

"_Why_ are all our weapons online?" Malcolm muttered, staring down at his station.

Trip patted him on the shoulder as he passed, heading for the lift, but paused a moment before he hit the button. T'Pol hadn't looked up when he walked past, which was not unusual – not lately, anyway – but he had a niggling feeling he'd said or done something he probably shouldn't have. "Sub-Commander," he said. "Did I…?" He had a vague memory of raising his voice, maybe even … had he chewed her out for something? "Did I say something inappropriate while I was…?" He hoped he hadn't said anything about that mission she'd gone off on with Jon and Travis. He wouldn't want her to know how much that still infuriated him.

She looked up then, and the bleakness of her expression struck him. "You were not yourself, Commander. I know that you would never intentionally behave anything other than professionally with me."

"That's right," he said. "But I still feel like I should apologize if I said anything out of turn."

"There's no need," she said, and turned back to her console.

In the lift, just before the door closed, he saw her glance at him once again. If anything, she looked even more depressed.

Damn it, what _had_ he said?

But it didn't matter, he told himself. She'd said it herself. Professionalism was his mantra now. Professionalism was the only way to go. Professionalism would keep him from taking anything the captain or first officer said or did too much to heart.

And professionalism would also get that damned chair fixed and back in place this afternoon if it killed him.


	10. Vanishing Point

**SPOILERS: **Vanishing Point

**DISCLAIMER: **Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** It ain't easy to squeeze a missing scene into an episode that consists almost entirely of another character's transporter dream. Maybe that's why this one is so short. Thanks as always to jT for beta and to my reviewers for your generosity in taking that time to let me know you read it.

* * *

"You have the bridge," Captain Archer said, as he departed to check on Ensign Sato in sickbay. She had spent 8.3 seconds in the pattern buffer of the transporter and apparently had experienced some psychological trauma due to her delayed rematerialization.

The turbo-lift opened and Tucker and Reed entered in animated conversation. Reed was saying, "She sure packed a lot into 8.3 seconds. What was it, two whole days worth of things happening? Meals, kidnappings, bomb-planting aliens, turning so invisible people could walk right through you – how could so much happen in so little time?"

Tucker said, "It was like all your basic work-related nightmares rolled into one. You can't do your job right, your boss relieves you of duty, nobody pays any attention to you and then to top it all off you literally disappear…" He shook his head. "Hell, the only thing she left out was showing up to work and realizing you forgot to wear any pants."

T'Pol lifted an eyebrow, but the two men were two engrossed in their discussion to notice.

"She must have a really vivid imagination," Reed said.

"You ever read that story 'Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge'? It's about a guy in the American Civil War who's being hanged – I can't remember why – and you get this whole adventure when the rope breaks and he falls into the river and swims away and I think he even makes it home and sees his wife. But then you realize he's actually just dropped, you know, that the whole thing had taken place in the time it took for him to fall and break his neck. It's pretty creepy."

"Huh," Reed said. "I'm shocked, Commander. You _have_ read more than comic books."

Tucker scowled at him.

"How is Ensign Sato?" T'Pol asked.

"Oh, she's fine," Tucker said. "Phlox is examining her now."

Reed said, "I don't think we'll be getting her back on the transporter platform anytime soon."

Tucker said, "She didn't want to do it in the first place. But I can't blame her now. That compressed beam idea of yours, Malcolm – that's real interesting."

The men began to debate different methods and how to test them, including how best to present the idea to Starfleet.

T'Pol listened to them while she attended to her other duties. So Ensign Sato had apparently imagined that she had literally disappeared.

Adult Vulcans didn't dream, of course, or at least they didn't remember their dreams – though there was some debate among Vulcan scientists about what happened during REM sleep cycles, and her one experiment with not meditating had indeed resulted in some vivid sleep imagery. Certainly nothing about going to work without clothes on, however. That was very hard to imagine.

She could, however, imagine how it felt to be invisible.


	11. Precious Cargo

**SPOILERS:** Precious Cargo (and as with most of these scenes, it won't make sense without it)

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Rick Berman, Brannon Braga, and David A. Goodman.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Okay, so I wrote a missing TnT scene with Malcolm and Travis instead of T'Pol. But she's kind of in it anyway. Diehard TnT romantics are probably going to be upset at me for this one, but I think Trip needed this. Warning for non-explicit sexual content.

* * *

After one very tense trip home in a crowded shuttle pod, one very tense debriefing, and one absolutely heaven-sent hot shower, Trip was sitting in the mess hall eating a long-overdue breakfast with two very annoying friends.

"You are jumping to a conclusion you shouldn't be jumping to," Trip said. "As I already explained, my uniform was off because we needed to create a decoy -- so the Retellian would shoot _it _instead of me. Not to mention Kaitaama told me the Palace Guard would cut my hand off if I so much as touched her. I'm an engineer. I _need _my hands."

"Yes, for so manythings," Malcolm said. "Methinks he doth protest too much. What do you think, Travis?"

"I think he looks awfully relaxed," Travis said, with one of his grins.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Trip said. He could feel his face getting hot.

"You're blushing," Malcolm said. "Also, you keep smiling when you think nobody can see you."

"That's not true!"

Malcolm waggled his eyebrows. "And then of course there was the _smell_."

Trip felt a twinge of misgiving. "What are you talking about? There was no smell!"

"Sub-Commander T'Pol was definitely sniffing something," Malcolm said. "I could see her nostrils flaring. She looked rather upset about it, too."

"That's ridiculous. If she was sniffing anything it was all the methane from that swamp. And Vulcans don't get upset."

"She was upset all right," Malcolm said. "She was giving you the Vulcan Death Stare. I thought she might just take out her phase pistol and shoot you."

Trip scowled. "She wasn't upset – which is _impossible_ – she just had her usual stick up her ass. I already got the lecture about maintaining proper diplomatic relations, as if I didn't happen to manage a first contact with the royal family of Krios Prime just fine without any of her advice and guidance. I can't help it if she always thinks the worst of me in every situation. Maybe she just needs to…" He stopped suddenly, a little horrified at what he'd been about to say.

"She just needs to what?" Malcolm said, with a glint in his eye.

He'd been about to say that maybe T'Pol just needed to _get laid_. But that was an awful thing to say. Plus, it would be a kind of backwards admission of what had just, gloriously, happened to him. "Nothing. Forget it."

But Malcolm clearly sensed weakness and went in for the kill. "You think maybe she needs to do something that will leave her feeling as relaxed as you do right now?"

"I don't feel relaxed at all with you two harassing me!"

"I wonder if there'd be any way to tell if the Sub-Commander was ever relaxed in _that _way?" Malcolm mused. "Would she have a _glow?_ Princess Kaitaama has a glow."

"That's just her natural complexion," Trip said. "She's Kriosan. They glow."

"But you're not Kriosan," Travis said. "And you're glowing."

"Shut up, Travis," Trip said. Once again he could feel his face turning hot. "I had a shower, that's all."

Malcolm grinned. "We're just happy for you, Trip."

"And a little jealous," Travis added.

Trip said, "I don't want to hear another word! I'll make it an order if I have to."

His friends smirked at each other, shrugged, and went back to their meals.

Trip stared down at what little was left of his giant plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. They were right, of course. He _was_ having a very hard time not smiling.

Because he, Charles 'Trip' Tucker III, a man of very simple origins, had rescued himself and _a royal princess_ from a bad situation using nothing but his own ingenuity, and then he'd made hot, dirty, sweaty love to said princess, who had clearly enjoyed every minute of it.

And thanked him for it afterwards.

Damn, but he felt good.

* * *

(By the way: If you want to see T'Pol and Trip actually have it out with each other over the events of this episode, you could go read my old story "No Lasting Effects.")


	12. The Catwalk

**SPOILERS:** The Catwalk

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Mike Sussman and Phyllis Strong.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **At the end of this episode, T'Pol is watching a western with the rest of the crew, and Trip lets her know she'd be welcome at their regular movie night. This is Tucker for _truce_, in my book. But what finally brought that on?

* * *

One of the many challenges of life in the catwalk was that T'Pol could hear virtually every conversation that didn't overlap sufficiently with another one. The long curved tube they were living in while they rode out the rest of the storm amplified sound waves with dreadful efficiency. She did her best to ignore these conversations, but some were harder to miss than others.

For example, it was impossible not to overhear Commander Tucker's discussion with Captain Archer in the command area while she was sitting on the floor between the two bunks behind them utterly failing to meditate. That precious state of serenity had been eluding her except in the very middle of the night on the extremely rare occasions when everybody was quiet. It didn't help that she had lost one of her ear plugs the very first day they arrived. Since it was impossible for something even that small to just disappear, she rather suspected that Porthos had eaten it.

Tucker said, "Cap'n, Phlox told me to ask you if I could take a nap up here. It's a lot quieter."

"You feeling all right? You got a pretty good dose of radiation."

"Yeah, he treated that. I'm just really tired. And I can't sleep back there, not right now. There's too much going on."

"It's fine with me, but T'Pol's meditating back there right now."

"Oh. Damn."

"I don't see that napping would interfere with meditation so much."

"The smell alone would probably distract her. I'm pretty ripe."

"We're _all _stinking up the joint. At this point I doubt she'd notice any difference."

"Maybe I should install showers up here when we're done, just in case this ever happens again. At least it would shut Malcolm up."

"How about an officer's latrine while you're at it?"

Tucker laughed. "Good idea. You can't even sit on the toilet for thirty seconds without somebody knocking on the door. Honestly, Cap'n -- I don't generally think of myself as much of an introvert, but if I don't get some time alone soon, I might just murder somebody."

"It's only one more day, Trip. I actually think it's been a nice bonding experience for the crew."

"With all due respect, sir, it's been a nice bonding experience if you can walk around for a little bit 'bonding' with people and then retreat back up here to some relative peace and quiet where you can feel all nice and warm about it without somebody stepping on you."

"You definitely do need some sleep, don't you? Why don't you just go on back?"

"How long has she been at it?"

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes?"

"I'll wait. This can't be easy on her, either. She's not exactly a people person at the best of times."

Archer lowered his voice. "I suggested she should take this opportunity to fraternize with the crew a little. She said it wasn't one of her skills."

Tucker snorted.

"She seems a little more isolated than usual, actually. I used to see you two having a cup of coffee now and then, but that doesn't seem to be happening anymore."

Silence.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Seems like after that mission she had to go on for the Vulcans, things just haven't been the same."

Silence.

Archer said, "You do realize that she was under strict instructions to keep the whole thing classified."

"You put me in a bad position there, Cap'n. I had to impersonate a senior officer just to get a damned water polo score. And you left me in command without giving me any idea what the hell was going on."

"Okay, but that was me. Not her."

More silence.

"Why are you still so angry about it?"

"I'm not."

"Trip."

"Maybe I just don't like not being trusted. I'm _not_ angry. I'm just … not stupid. I admit, I thought she and I were friends, to the extent you _can_ be friends with a Vulcan. I've adjusted my expectations, that's all. Now I just think of her as a colleague. A _valued_ colleague. My behavior has been nothing but professional. I'm sure she prefers it that way, anyway."

"I doubt that."

"Well, that's just the way it's gonna be. You can't _order_ me to be friends with someone."

"No, I can't. But I'm disappointed in you. You've never struck me as someone who would hold a grudge."

"It's not a grudge! It's just recognizing the way things are."

"And you don't strike me as particularly happy about it, either."

"Was there anything else, sir?" Tucker clearly didn't want to discuss the matter any further.

Archer's sigh was heavy. "Why don't you just go on back? Tell her the doctor ordered you to take a nap. He did, didn't he?"

"I can't go back there."

"This is ridiculous, Trip! I want my senior officers to be able to get along. And you're the _last_ person I would expect to be getting in the way of that."

"_I'm_ not the problem!" Trip said hotly.

Any further attempt at meditation would be pointless now. She wasn't sure why having Commander Tucker declare so plainly that he no longer considered her a friend upset her equanimity so thoroughly, but it did. She blew out the little candle Archer had allowed her and swept out of the little vestibule. "Please take your nap, Commander," she said. "I wouldn't want a _valued colleague_ to go without sleep." Then she brushed past him, pushed through the blanket door, and stalked off down the gangway.

She would go find something to do or somebody to fraternize with, no matter how inappropriate a use of her time and skills it might be.


	13. Dawn

**SPOILERS:** Dawn (and as usual, it won't make much sense without it).

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by John Shiban, though this particular plot goes back a lot further than him.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I was a little surprised to find myself still playing with the whole trust issue here. Thanks as always to jT for beta (and to you reviewers, of course!).

* * *

What a relief it was to take a breath and inhale _Enterprise_'s familiar air after the choking heat of the planet and then the fetid stink of the alien shuttle. Trip felt himself being lifted from one stretcher to another and opened his eyes to what seemed like a very dim corridor. "Zho'Kaan?" he rasped. His throat was painfully dry. The Arkonians on the shuttle had tried to ply him with more of that god-awful liquid – something like a combination of mud and petroleum – but he'd managed to fend them off before they killed him with it.

Malcolm's voice said, "You mean the Arkonian who was with you? He's here."

Phlox's voice said, "Which is fortunate, because I'm afraid he's in rather serious condition. To sickbay quickly but gently, please." There was a bustle nearby as the other stretcher moved off.

"And how are you, Mr. Tucker?" Phlox's voice came, much closer this time, startling Trip a little.

He really should try to keep his eyes open. "Okay," Trip said, though in truth he felt quite woozy.

Phlox said, "Mmm, yes, mammalian thermoregulation comes in rather handy at times. You are going to have rather extensive sunburn and you're a bit dehydrated, but you don't appear to be in any significant danger. Follow my hand, Commander."

Trip squinted up as Phlox waved his hand in front of his face in a way that reminded him vaguely of the Three Stooges. "Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck," he muttered, letting his eyes drift shut again.

"He's irrational, doctor." T'Pol's voice.

"Commander? Do you know where you are?" Phlox again.

"_Enterprise_," Tucker said, scowling. They weren't going to let him just sleep, were they? "I am_ too _rational. Most of the time."

Phlox said, "He'll be fine, Sub-Commander. You see, there really was no need to beam him up."

"The temperature was rising to fatal levels very rapidly. I still maintain that it was an illogical risk to take for no particular gain."

Was that a hint of emotion in the sub-commander's voice? "Were you worried about me, T'Pol?" Trip smiled beatifically up at her.

"Vulcans don't worry."

"Do take him to sickbay," Phlox said. "But his case is less urgent, so I'll leave you to it. I must catch up with, um…" He leaned down. "What did you say his name was again?"

"Zho'Kaan," Trip said.

"Zho'Kaan. Right." Phlox scurried off.

"Maybe the Sub-Commander _wasn't _worried," Malcolm said to him, "But she practically had a knock-down, drag-out fight with the captain over whether to beam you up despite what you said." He nodded at somebody behind Trip and soon he was being lifted and carried. He watched the corridor ceilings pass by, bemused by the new angle on the ship he knew so well.

"That is a rather gross exaggeration of the nature of our discussion," T'Pol said, from the front of the stretcher. Trip craned his neck back to see what he could. He might as well appreciate this unusual view of their science officer's marvelous backside. He had no doubt _Malcolm _was taking it in.

"You did say we should ignore Commander Tucker's wishes," Malcolm said, and winked down at Trip.

"Only because it was clear he did not fully comprehend the certainty of his death if he stayed on that moon."

Malcolm smirked down at him. "Whereas the captain said we should trust you to make the right judgment."

Trip grimaced. In truth, he'd realized the idiocy of his decision once the radio circuits had fused and he couldn't call for help. Hanging out with Zho'Kaan for a few more fleeting moments of consciousness was not really worth the sheer discomfort of being baked to death.

Then they were in sickbay, and they had lifted him onto a bio-bed. Crewman Saad brought him glorious water to drink through a straw and began to attend to his various cuts and bruises, beginning with his split lip.

"Where _is _the cap'n?" Trip asked, once that was closed up.

"No doubt still negotiating with the Arkonians over the disposition of Zho'Kaan and our imminent departure from this system," T'Pol said. "Are all of these injuries from the crash?"

"Zho'Kaan and I had some … misunderstandings … before we began to work together."

"You fought."

"There was definitely some _debate._ And it hard to communicate without a universal translator. But I eventually got him to see reason."

"How?"

"Brute strength and a little bit of Southern charm." He smiled at her.

"And then you were actually willing to give your life to stay with him when he couldn't be transported."

"I wouldn't say I was willing to _give my life_. I knew you'd get me in time."

"You could not have known that."

"I trusted you guys to beam me up if it got too bad. I didn't know the captain was going to mess that up by trusting me even more."

She stared down at him. "Perhaps he knew that you particularly dislike _not_ being trusted."

Tucker closed his eyes and snorted a little. "Don't tell me we're back _there _again."

When he opened his eyes she was staring rather apprehensively at him.

"What?" he said.

"I did indeed argue _against_ trusting you in this matter."

If she were Human, he would have grabbed her hand. As it was, all he could say was, "In this case, I think you were right, T'Pol. Don't worry about it." And he smiled reassuringly at her.

She gave him that odd, almost shy little nod she sometimes used, so subtle that he sometimes wondered if she had really nodded or had just dipped her eyes down or something, and then turned away without bothering to tell him that Vulcans never worried. "How is your Arkonian patient doing, doctor?" she asked.

Trip closed his eyes and listened to Phlox and T'Pol discussing Zho'Kaan's improving condition.

It was good to be home.


	14. Stigma

**SPOILERS:** Stigma (and as usual, it won't make much sense without it).

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. The original episode was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** The trust arc continues. I seem to be in the mood for continuity this season. Thanks as always to **jT **for beta and to my reviewers for your generous feedback!

* * *

T'Pol eyed the sparse selection of menu items in the case. It was well past lunch and well before dinner – which was exactly why she had chosen to come to the mess hall now. She did not want company. She did not want to have to explain that she was not on duty because she was packing up the rest of her belongings after a hearing that had merely succeeded in destroying yet another Vulcan's life.

She was not particularly hungry, either, but she knew that failing to eat would only exacerbate her condition. So she helped herself to a small salad and a cup of peppermint tea and took them to the most distant, corner table.

Should she even be concerned about exacerbating her condition? Perhaps it would be better if it ran its course as quickly as possible. That way she would perhaps reduce the amount of shame she would bring to her mother and her clan.

Of course, once home it was unlikely she would have any choice in the matter. She was unlikely to receive the same level of treatment Phlox had been providing. She would probably be encouraged to check herself into a discreet hospice program somewhere, a place designed to keep dangerous deviants compassionately segregated from the rest of society.

Perhaps the company there would be interesting, at least – presumably it would include melders, hopefully more like Yuris than like Tolaris – and there might be less of the hypocrisy she had begun to associate with Vulcans in authority. Perhaps, if she were allowed to research the condition, she might come up with a cure on her own.

Though she doubted any significant resources would be made available to her.

She looked across the empty mess hall. She didn't want to leave _Enterprise_. Archer had been very angry about not being told about her diagnosis, but once he got beyond that she had gotten nothing but support and concern from him. He still wanted her here, and in T'Pol's judgment it was much preferable to be wanted than to be unwanted.

As she stared bleakly across the room, the door slid open and Commander Tucker stuck his head in and scanned the room quickly. When he saw her he smiled – a warm, open smile, the kind she had once taken for granted but now knew to appreciate – and stepped into the room. "May I join you?" he asked.

She nodded her assent and waited while he grabbed a sandwich and a glass of milk.

"A late lunch?" she asked.

"Yep. I'm starving."

She let him sit and "inhale" his food, as Ensign Sato had once, figuratively, described it – while she picked at her own meal. She had not attended any more movie nights, but Commander Tucker appeared to have forgiven her for her perceived trespasses against him anyway. For whatever reason, this small change in their interactions had made her daily life aboard ship much more comfortable.

He consumed half of his sandwich in very little time and sighed with relief. "Oh, that hits the spot. So why are _you_ eating at this odd time of day?"

"I was down on the planet with Captain Archer."

"Ah. Anything exciting going on?"

She looked at him, assessing. Should she tell him? She knew he most particularly did not like 'not to be trusted.' On the other hand, she also knew he would be upset and angry about what had happened – it would offend his sense of justice, just as it had Archer's. He would be even more upset if he knew about Tolaris. And Tucker, she suspected, would likely react with even more volatility than the captain. He might be additionally upset at her that he hadn't known about Tolaris before – he might categorize it as yet another example of her not trusting him sufficiently.

She didn't feel capable of coping with his negative emotions on top of her own right now. As it was, she was feeling vaguely nauseated by the simple necessity of eating.

"T'Pol?" he said. "You all right?"

"I'm … a bit fatigued. No, there was nothing particularly notable. We exchanged some research findings."

"Ah." He went back to his sandwich.

She remembered the odd way he had entered the room. "Why are _you_ eating so late?"

He blushed and answered her around the remains of half a mouth-full of sandwich. "I'm trying to avoid Feezal. Phlox's wife."

Her eyebrow rose.

He swallowed. "Apparently Denobulan women have very healthy, um, _appetites._ And, for whatever reason, she … took a shine to me." His blush deepened.

T'Pol stared at him, nonplussed. He'd had sex with Phlox's wife? That might well make it rather awkward to encounter her again. Were there _any _alien women Tucker wouldn't be willing to have sex with?

"I didn't do anything to encourage it, either," Tucker said. "Nothing at all!"

"I hope you took precautions." She worked to keep her tone even and nonjudgmental. "At least with a Denobulan female becoming pregnant yourself is not a concern."

"Precautions?" Tucker said, squinting at her. Then his mouth dropped open. "Are you _kidding_ me? You must think I'm some oversexed baboon who'll happily sleep with anything that moves!"

She blinked. What had she said wrong now? "I thought you said…"

"I said _she _was interested – not that _I _was! She's married! I'd _never_ do that sort of thing. I even told Phlox about it, but that didn't help. He actually encouraged me to give it a go. Can you imagine? I guess Denobulans are used to sharing _everything_." He shuddered.

She leaned forward as casually as she could and gently sniffed. No, he didn't smell as if he had recently engaged in sexual relations, though there _was_ a faint whiff of Denobulan female – that was a rather unmistakable aroma. Of course, he could have gotten that just from being in the same room with the woman.

"Are you _smelling_ me?" he said.

She quickly pulled back. "I apologize," she said. "I was merely attempting to verify your claim."

His face darkened. "And did I pass_?"_

"I don't detect any evidence to contradict your story," she said.

He folded his arms and stared at her. "I see. You couldn't simply trust me to tell you the truth."

"Vulcan women have _extremely_ good olfactory senses," she said, and stared right back at him. Surely he didn't think he could lie straight-faced to her about the Kriosan he'd very obviously had sex with and then expect her to believe him in _this _matter?

He was nodding his head in a clearly annoyed manner. "I get it. You think I lied to you about Kaitaama."

She just raised an eyebrow.

He scowled. His face turned red. He looked off to the side and said, "You know, it's just possible that a princess who's about to ascend to First Monarch can't afford to let certain things get out."

"Indeed," T'Pol said. "I could well imagine that. Similarly, it's possible the Vulcan Security Directorate cannot allow certain information to become common knowledge."

He closed his eyes. That was a painful area for him, she knew. "That wasn't the same."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said, and began to stand.

"T'Pol."

She stopped, tray in hand.

"I want us to be friends," he said.

She sat back down. "I cannot share all my secrets with you, Commander."

He grimaced. "I know. I suppose I might want to keep a few of my own, if I think about it."

"But I would consider it a great honor to be your friend," she said.

He gave her a very serious look. "Likewise. Always."

She nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

He gave her a tight smile, as if he was perhaps holding back a stronger emotion.

How she wished could stay here on _Enterprise_ with him and Archer and a crew that largely seemed to accept her despite her differences from them.

Should she tell Tucker why she had to go back to her quarters to finish packing now?

But she simply didn't have it in her. Perhaps, later, when her things were packed. And even if she never said anything at all, if she somehow avoided a painful farewell, perhaps he could look back on this conversation and remember that she had said she could not share all her secrets with him.

But she would always be his friend.


	15. Cease Fire

**Spoilers: "**Cease Fire" (and it won't make much sense without it)

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. "Cease Fire" was written by Chris Black.

**Author's Note: **Snuck in another one of these before all the research papers hit. Thanks as always to any reviewers who take the time to say something – I truly appreciate it – and to jT for her ongoing beta services.

* * *

"Eight _years?_" He stared at T'Pol, appalled. "And there was fighting going on that whole time?"

"There were some continuing skirmishes during the negotiations, but the most serious battles were conducted before treaty negotiations began."

"Were you involved in any of them?"

She looked just a bit affronted. "The dispute over Paan Makar occurred over one hundred years ago."

He smiled. "I take it you're not over one hundred, then."

This time she favored him with a rather un-Vulcan look of disgust. "Are you more interested in my age or in this critical diplomatic situation, Commander?"

"Truthfully?" Trip grinned, then sobered. "I guess I need to know anything I can, especially if I'm going to be sitting in the captain's chair."

That was, in fact, why Archer had asked T'Pol to fill him in while the captain updated Admiral Forrest on their plan to return to the planet with Soval. T'Pol had already given Trip a Padd with far more information on it than he could ever get through in time for it to be of any use -- so much so that he'd wondered if she wasn't perhaps overcompensating for that secret away mission that had left him so infuriated. Hell, it still rankled. Since he had only minutes before he'd be in charge, he'd asked her for the Cliffs Notes version. Fortunately -- once he had explained what _that _meant -- she had obliged.

Now she said, "Given the presence of two highly-armed Vulcan battle cruisers, I doubt _Enterprise _will be expected to play any significant role in anything that may occur. And, as you know, Starfleet wishes us to stay neutral in this matter if at all possible."

"Yeah," Tucker said. "I got that. But what if you guys go missing? I don't have a whole lot of confidence in the Vulcan High Command's finesse with rescue missions. They nearly got you killed in the last one." Trip could still remember the horror of staring down at T'Pol's crumpled form. In fact, it had paralyzed him for a moment, which had struck him as so unforgiveable after the fact that he had spent weeks doing extra combat drills with Malcolm.

"In the event we 'go missing,' the presence of Ambassador Soval may encourage a more delicate touch from the High Command," T'Pol said. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about the Andorians."

"You really don't trust them, huh? But Shran actually helped us last time."

"History teaches us that Andorians are highly volatile, deceitful, and quick to take advantage of any sign of weakness."

"So you think Shran is just using the captain to try to unbalance the Vulcans?"

She frowned. "Not necessarily. Shran seems to have genuine regard for the captain. It may be that the caution and emotional control Vulcans exhibit does raise Andorian suspicions higher than the captain's more emotional response to situations. Therefore, I do think it is possible the captain can make faster progress towards a cease fire than a Vulcan delegation alone could. However, we can't know the extent to which Shran is truly in control of this situation. Individual Andorians have appeared to make good faith agreements with Vulcan in the past, only to have other elements in their society ignore those agreements when it suited them."

"Great." For some reason this reminded him of the travails of the Native Americans as the whites had expanded into their territories, breaking one inconvenient treaty after another as they went. "Either way, I don't see how you can get it done before those Andorian ships arrive."

"That does seem rather unlikely," T'Pol agreed. "However, all we need to achieve for now is a cease fire."

"That's all, huh?" He sighed. "Well, thanks for giving me the short version. I hope you get your cease fire and then get the hell back home as soon as you can, safe and sound." He had perhaps said it with a little too much feeling, because she got a slightly odd look on her face. He quickly added a less emotional explanation: "I still have a lot of mopping up to do in Engineering after that mad sprint we took to get here."

Her face cleared. "Indeed. I had better collect the Ambassador's party before he changes his mind about participating."

Trip nodded and watched her go. He had a bad feeling about this one.

_Keep safe, _he thought, and then blinked. He was fixating on the Sub-Commander's safety, but she wasn't the only one going down there.

_Both of you_, he corrected himself.

Yes, both of them.

Hell, he might as well throw Soval in there, too, even if he was a cranky old son of a bitch. Yes, _all_ of them.

It really wouldn't do to choose favorites.


	16. Future Tense

**SPOILERS: **"Future Tense"

**DISCLAIMER: **All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Future Tense" was written by Mike Sussman and Phyllis Strong.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you, reviewers, and thanks also, kind beta **jT** (especially on this one).

* * *

T'Pol returned from the Tal'Kir to Enterprise with a sensation of weight being lifted from her which could not be entirely accounted for by the lighter gravity on the Earth ship. When required to participate in any encounter between Captain Archer and her people, she could always sense every Vulcan in the room assessing her and wondering how she could serve for so long on a ship of emotional, odorous Humans. Indeed, she once would have done the same.

Fortunately, unlike many other Vulcans they had encountered over the last year and a half, Captain Simik treated her captain with respect and courtesy. He also, however, refused their help with their warp engines. She could tell this was annoying to Archer, although he did not, thankfully, say anything other than, "It's up to you."

It was perhaps just as well Commander Tucker hadn't come over as part of the initial party. His frustration might have been a little more plainly spoken, if only because he had long expressed a keen interest in contemporary Vulcan warp technology. Indeed, when she saw that he was already waiting in the captain's mess for dinner she braced herself for his likely opinion on the matter.

But all he said was, "Cap'n coming?"

"He did specify this time for dinner, so I would imagine so."

Tucker grimaced. "I've got a lot to do. I probably shouldn't even be here."

"How are repairs going?"

"We're making good progress; I would estimate all systems will be back to normal by tomorrow afternoon."

"Then sparing some time for a meal with the captain shouldn't be too difficult."

He scowled at her. "I guess not, if the cap'n ever shows up."

She blinked and formed a hypothesis: "You're hungry."

He grinned. "Yeah, I'm ravenous."

_Ravenous._ Raving with hunger. Given that he was actually sitting there rather sedately, Tucker was clearly once again indulging in hyperbole.

"Hey, I have a question for you," he said abruptly.

She lifted her eyebrows, waiting.

"If you could travel into the future and find out how it all turns out, would you?"

She stared at him for a moment. Her initial thought, to say that the Vulcan Science Directorate had determined that time travel was impossible, struck her as a particularly weak response in light of recent events. "I've never thought about it," she said.

"Then think about it now. Would you want to know?"

"Know what?"

"How our mission turns out … how your life turns out … who you marry, how many kids you have, how long you live…whether Humans ever accept that micro-singularities are real and not just a Vulcan fairy tale…"

She stared at him.

"Malcolm says he'd love to know who he's going to marry," Tucker said, when she remained silent. "Says it could save him from a lot of miserable first dates."

"Vulcans don't date. Would you like to know these things ahead of time?"

"No, not at all," Tucker said. "It would take all the fun out of it. Might even be kind of creepy. I sure as hell wouldn't want to know when I'm going to die, or my loved ones, unless of course that would allow me to prevent it, which would require messing with the timeline, assuming it even _could _be changed. Of course, judging from Daniels maybe it _could_ be, and then who knows what you might be screwing up just out of a selfish desire to not kick off when you're meant to. Really, it gives me a headache just thinking about it."

And yet he certainly did seem to want to think about it. "Time travel, if it is even possible, does seem to entail significant risk," she said.

She expected him to attack her for even questioning the possibility of time travel after all they had seen and done, but his eyes narrowed and instead he said, "But _would _you want to know who you're going to marry, if you could? Without screwing up the timeline?"

She frowned. "Vulcans usually _do_ know who they are going to marry."

"But you don't," he said. He turned red. "Unless, of course, you've got new arrangements I don't know about."

Her mother had certainly argued that she was still betrothed to Koss unless he formally released her, which he had failed to do. However, given that she hadn't given in to his parents' ultimatum, and given her increasing notoriety among her people, T'Pol assumed it would surely be a matter of some shame to accept her as a daughter-in-law now. "There are no new arrangements that I am aware of," she said.

"Then…?"

"It's irrelevant," she said.

"What do you mean, it's irrelevant?"

"If I am going to marry, I will marry. There is nothing _I_ can do about it."

"That's ridiculous. You turned down Koss, didn't you?"

"I didn't turn down Koss. I turned down his parents' timetable for marrying Koss. Vulcans don't choose their own mates." It was surely better not to even attempt to explain the barbaric custom of kali'fee to a Human. It was virtually unheard of in modern times in any case.

"But don't you see that saying no implies that you could also say _yes_?"

The door slid open and Archer rushed in. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "The conversation with Forrest went longer than I had anticipated."

"Good thing you're here," Tucker said. "I was about to chew my own arm off I'm so hungry."

More hyperbole, this time with a cannibalistic bent. T'Pol imagined sitting at a table with her mother and Commander Tucker and watching her mother react to the shock of such brutal imagery at a meal.

Strangely, the thought of shocking her mother in this way actually held some appeal. How odd. Perhaps the Humans really were having a deleterious effect on her.

"I'm glad you didn't," Archer said mildly, and summoned the steward.

"Did Forrest have any news?" Tucker asked. T'Pol was relieved that he was apparently not interested in continuing the discussion about marriage with the captain here. Archer had struck her as just a touch too interested in the discovery of Vulcan DNA in a Human's corpse.

The evidence did seem to indicate that the two species would find a way to intermingle someday.

However, she was sure that would be long after _her_ time.


	17. Canamar

**SPOILERS:** "Canamar" - and it may make little sense if you haven't seen it

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount, not me. "Canamar" was written by Allan Kroeker.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is a bit of a departure from my usual schtick with this series - hopefully you won't mind it too much. And as always, thank you so much, you few dedicated reviewers here. Almost all fanfic writers truly appreciate it when someone takes the time to actually give some feedback on their efforts, since there's no other pay involved. Thanks as always also to beta **jT. **

* * *

T'Pol followed the two clearly exhausted men down the corridor. She would let Lieutenant Reed deal with the Enolian representative. Archer had snubbed the man, which was uncharacteristic behavior for the captain, and she decided to follow his lead.

"Hungry?" the captain asked Commander Tucker.

"Starving."

They went to the mess hall, then into the captain's mess. Archer hit the com button and summoned his steward from what sounded like a sound sleep.

Tucker looked as if he might fall asleep in his seat at the table. He was resting his head on an arm. Judging just from the injuries T'Pol could see, he needed to be examined by the doctor.

"What's your pleasure, Trip?" Archer said.

"Scrambled eggs," the engineer said, without opening his eyes.

"You sure you wouldn't rather just go to bed?"

With effort, Tucker straightened up. "No sir."

"Trip didn't even get to eat that mush they were serving on the prison transport," Archer said, finally including her in the conversation. "This definitely didn't turn out to be the pleasant getaway I had hoped it would be."

Tucker's face darkened, and he didn't make eye contact with her or the captain. Archer frowned.

Cunningham raced into the room, his hair somewhat disarranged. "Captain?"

"We are very hungry, Crewman. Commander Tucker here would like scrambled eggs; I'd like an omelet with cheese – Sub-Commander, would you like something?"

"I already ate," she said.

Cunningham looked uncomfortable. "Chef ordered me not to use the griddle after hours. I could heat up some quiche Lorraine, and we have a rather nice strata…"

"Quiche is fine," Archer said. "Trip?"

Tucker stared mulishly at the table. "I want scrambled eggs."

Cunningham said, "Sir…"

Tucker's face turned white. "I don't care what Chef told you, Cunningham. I want scrambled eggs. I'll make them myself if I have to." And he got up abruptly and left.

Archer said, "I'll take care of it, Crewman," and spared her a quick glance before following the engineer out. Cunningham looked understandably flustered. T'Pol felt rather confused herself, and followed the men to the galley.

Commander Tucker had already fired up the griddle and was melting a slab of butter. "Where are the eggs?" he said.

"Trip." Archer laid a hand on the engineer's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Trip said furiously. "Cunningham?" The crewman had followed them to the door of the galley and was staring at the engineer with wide eyes.

"Sir?"

"Where are the damned eggs?"

Cunningham looked at Archer, who nodded his permission. "Here, sir," he said, and retrieved a box stashed in one of the stasis units.

"Thank you," Tucker said tersely, grabbing three. Apparently Chef had recently stocked up on the real thing. Tucker cracked them efficiently and dropped their contents onto the hot griddle.

"I could take over for you, sir," Cunningham said.

"Wouldn't want you to get in trouble with Chef," Tucker said, his eyes on the spatula he was using to rather viciously 'scramble' the eggs on the griddle surface. "I'll make my own eggs, thank you very much, and if Chef doesn't like it, Chef can kiss my ass."

"Trip," Archer said.

Tucker turned his angry glare on the captain. "You can throw me in the brig later if you want, sir, but right now _I am going to cook and eat these eggs_."

T'Pol expected Archer to call security, but instead he said, "You want some toast with it?"

"Wouldn't hurt," Tucker said.

"Cunningham?" Archer said. "How about some toast. I'd like some, too. And that quiche you offered to heat up?"

"Yes sir," Cunningham said, and hurried to prepare the rest of the meal.

"Do you want some coffee, Trip?" Archer asked.

Tucker nodded. He had his head down, and he had begun to sniff. As she watched, perplexed, he quickly brushed his sleeve across his face. Was he…?

"Could you get Trip some coffee?" Archer said softly to her, his face full of a warning she couldn't interpret. Did he want her to call Phlox? Call security? Perhaps just not say anything? She decided to simply take him at his word and get some coffee for the engineer.

"Here," she said softly, returning with it and placing it near Tucker, who didn't look up. "Would you like some, too, Captain?"

"Yes, please," Archer said, and so she went and got one for him as well. When she returned with his coffee he sat down on one of the stools in the galley and took an appreciative sip. "It's good to be home. Fill us in on what we missed."

And so she made her report. Meanwhile Tucker silently sat down at the other end of the galley's prep table and ate his eggs, accepted and ate Cunningham's toast without comment, and sipped his coffee. "Could I have some orange juice, please?" he asked Cunningham, and was provided with a glass, which he drank down quickly.

"Sounds like you did a great job of tracking us down," Archer said, when she had finished. "Maybe we'd better set up a more rigorous protocol for checking in during these expeditions."

"If I may make a suggestion, Captain, it may be a mistake to assume first contacts can be safely conducted with only two officers and a shuttle pod."

"You may have a point," Archer said, though his attention was clearly less with her than with their engineer, who had stood up. "Phlox should take a look at you, Trip."

"I just want to get some sleep, Cap'n, and he'll still have his hands full with the others."

"First thing when you wake up, then."

"Yes sir," Tucker said, and left. Cunningham wordlessly began to clean up.

"Come with me, Sub-Commander," Archer said. "I'd like to check in on the bridge before I get some shut-eye myself."

In the lift, she said, "I don't understand. Commander Tucker was behaving in an irrational manner. He needs to be examined by the doctor as soon as possible."

"Commander Tucker just hit his limit. That's all that was. He had a particularly brutal time of it with the Enolians. They thought we were smugglers, you know. They looked everywhere for contraband. And I do mean everywhere. It was extremely…" His face reddened. "_Invasive._" His jaw worked; clearly, he hadn't had an easy time of it himself.

T'Pol swallowed. How primitive of the Enolians. Didn't they have scanners? Or did they perhaps enjoy inflicting pain and humiliation on others? "All the more reason why the doctor should see both of you as soon as possible," she said.

"Right now I imagine Trip just needs to feel that he has some control over something," Archer said. "Putting off a doctor's visit for a few hours isn't going to hurt anything. Neither will throwing a little hissy fit over some eggs. Maybe if we were Vulcan we could just go meditate and we'd be fine, but Humans have to find their own ways of coping with bad experiences."

"How will _you _cope, then?" she asked, curious.

Archer smiled grimly. "I'll let you know when I've figured it out. But you might not want to leave me alone with any Enolians in the meantime."


	18. The Crossing

**SPOILERS:** "The Crossing"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "The Crossing" was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you as always, reviewers and beta **jT. **This one is slightly more developed than the version at Triaxian Silk.

* * *

Trip had fanned his people out to every station in Engineering, trying to quickly analyze why both sets of engines had shut down, or if not that, at least ascertain what condition systems were in before he attempted a restart.

He'd retreated to his work station in Engineering, calling up each report in turn, when he felt rather than heard her come up behind him. "Sub-Commander?" he said. "What can I do for you?"

How odd that he'd just _known _she was there. Was this some sort of remnant of his experience in the ether? He remembered brushing past T'Pol, and now it was if he now recognized something about her that he wouldn't have, before … except that if he actually tried to put his finger on what it was, he couldn't.

"Captain Archer wants to know when we can expect warp drive."

He sighed. "Look, you don't just fire up engines that stopped for no good reason without checking to make sure there's nothing in the system that's going to blow up when you do. There could be damage of some kind, or pockets of..."

"I was not attempting to hurry you, Commander. I'm sure you understand the urgency of our situation. I'm simply asking for an estimate."

Trip tried to swallow his impatience. Archer tended to be more cavalier about ship's systems than he was, but that was nothing new. "So far everything is checking out okay. I'll know for sure within half an hour. From there, if nothing crops up as an issue, it'll be about another twenty minutes to get everything ready to go. I'll keep you both informed."

"Thank you."

Trip turned back to his monitor and had already pulled up the next report and started checking it over when he realized T'Pol hadn't left. "Was there something else?"

"If I may ask … who is Hopalong Cassidy?"

Trip grinned and turned back to his reports. He could do two things at once. "A cowboy hero from old movies set in the American West. My dad is an old movie buff, so I saw a lot of stuff like that when I was a kid."

"I see. And Lisa? I believe the captain referred to her as your girlfriend?"

Trip stopped even pretending to read the report. "_Old_ girlfriend," he said. He turned around. "Why do you ask?" He wondered a little wildly if one of those wisps taken over T'Pol.

To his surprise, she flushed just faintly, but her answer convinced him that she was the same Vulcan science officer he'd known all along. "I am merely trying to ascertain a pattern to your experiences in a non-corporeal state. It's somewhat striking that you interacted with both real and fictional people. Were the events you 'experienced' something you had witnessed before, in some form or another, or were they new to you?"

Trip stuck his tongue in his cheek as he thought about it. "Lisa and I did go diving in Tarpon Springs and snow sailing in New Zealand. I guess it was sort of like reliving the highlights of that." He traced through Rostov's report on the starboard plasma conduits and added, "I thought she had the most amazing spirit of adventure. I was always trying to think what I could come up with that she hadn't done before. Then when she broke up with me she said it was just too exhausting always doing all that stuff." He turned back to her. "I would have happily scaled back! I told her that, too, but she said there was more to it than that."

T'Pol was looking back at him with wide eyes and he wondered why the hell he was telling her all this. For that matter, why was he suddenly so heated about something that had ended years ago? Embarrassed, he turned back to his report. "Obviously I never _actually_ rode along with Hopalong Cassidy. I used to daydream about how much fun it would be, though."

Reliving those adventures so recently must have brought Lisa back to the forefront of his mind. He had often wondered if he should have tried harder to work things out, but it had shaken him badly to discover she was so unhappy when he had thought things couldn't be going better. His mother had told him not long ago that Lisa was already married and had a baby girl. So probably it was just as well. He wouldn't have wanted to leave a wife and child behind to come out here.

T'Pol was still standing there, watching as he scanned quickly through yet another report. "Was there anything else?" he asked.

"The captain suspects the aliens of malicious intent. Would you say that these experiences were possibly designed to distract you from the loss of your corporeal state? Perhaps to lull you into a false sense of well-being?"

"I don't know," Trip said. "I can tell you I had absolutely no sense of threat or danger. Raking leaves with my dad… Hopalong Cassidy … they both hearken back to simpler days for me. Lisa … I'm not sure what that's about, but I guess they were times when I was really happy. I definitely wasn't thinking about how she was going to break my heart in the end. So I don't know. Maybe it _was_ lulling. Or maybe it was just fun." He shrugged. "You know, if the cap'n wants warp speed I should probably focus on that."

"Of course, Commander," T'Pol said. She sounded subdued. "Thank you for answering my questions."

Trip ignored his reports a little longer to watch her walk away. Somehow he couldn't help thinking that she had seemed a lot more interested in Lisa than in Hopalong Cassidy.

Then he frowned and shook his head, dismissing the idea, because it was ridiculous. _Especially _after he'd admitted to fantasies of being a cowboy. If he'd wanted to impress a Vulcan science officer, he was pretty sure that wasn't the way to do it.

Of course, he'd tried to impress Lisa, hadn't he, and that hadn't exactly worked out for him. After that he'd resolved that it was far better to just be himself, and forget about any woman who didn't make what she wanted pretty damned clear. Unfortunately, he also knew from experience that it could be awfully hard to stick to that resolve when a pretty woman caught his eye . . . or when it had been a long time.

And that was usually exactly when he _really_ got into trouble. Like Risa.

_Hell. _Focus, Tucker, focus. Warp speed. The captain wants warp speed. They _both _want warp speed.

Warp speed, coming right up.


	19. Judgment

**SPOILERS:** "Judgment"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Judgment" was written by David A. Goodman.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Sincere thanks as always to my reviewers and to beta **jT.**

* * *

"Lieutenant Reed and I will make contact and move on from there. Given the distance to Rura Penthe from here, I estimate that it will take approximately a week to get the captain back. We will check in every 12 hours if circumstances allow, but you are absolutely not to come after us unless we request your aid. If we haven't returned in two weeks, it would be reasonable to launch a small, discreet investigation, but only if it can be done safely."

Trip nodded at T'Pol and scowled just slightly at Malcolm. Yes, the man was obviously more qualified for this mission, but did he have to look so damned smug about it?

The three of them had been discussing details of T'Pol's plan to retrieve Archer for an hour now, and she was clearly wrapping it up. "Commander, we are dangerously close to Klingon territory, and they are not our only potential enemies. If challenged, you can safely claim to be negotiating for dilithium. However, you must also be prepared to get _Enterprise_ to safety. Both Mr. Reed and I are skilled in security operations, and there will doubtless be opportunities to return for us later, or for us to find alternative transport. You must not risk the ship and crew for us, or for the captain. That is an order. It is, in fact, the same order the captain gave _me_."

Trip hesitated, frowning a little, then nodded.

T'Pol turned to Reed. "Lieutenant, I will meet you in Launch Bay One in thirty minutes."

Reed nodded and left, shooting Trip a last, inscrutable look as he went.

T'Pol waited for the door to slide shut behind him and turned to Trip. "You and I both know that once you are in command, the decision to stay or go is actually yours. Do you understand why I am attempting to make the point anyway?"

Trip fought down a surge of annoyance. "I know perfectly well where my duty lies."

"Yet you wanted to take on the Klingon Empire after the captain's sentencing. I also know that leaving here would likely feel to you like a personal betrayal of Lt. Reed, the captain and me. But it could be disastrous if you let the discomfort of that emotion override your greater responsibility to the crew." Her eyes were oddly soft as she stared seriously at him.

He swallowed. "Look, when I'm not in command, I know I can afford to react a little more emotionally. You'll be there to balance that out, or the cap'n will. But when _I'm_ the one in the hot seat…." He sighed. "It's different. Very different. I already know that. You don't need to worry."

"Vulcans…"

"…don't worry. I know." He smiled at her. "But Humans do. And I will, until you're safely back. Please be careful." He meant that for all three of them, of course, but since she was the only one in the room, it was surely reasonable to feel as if he was saying it for her alone.

She stared back at him with those big brown eyes and the moment stretched out a little, long enough for him to imagine the parting hug or handshake or even just a shoulder clap that could have filled that moment if only he could do that to a Vulcan, which of course he couldn't. "But then Vulcans are always careful," he said, letting his tone revert to teasing instead.

"Lieutenant Reed is not generally known for his recklessness, either - unless, of course, he is with you."

He smiled. If a Vulcan could learn to tease, did that mean she might one day also learn to hug? But really, this particular Vulcan had exercised her dry wit on him from the very beginning. In fact, he had recently concluded that the general reputation Vulcans had for humorlessness was just plain wrong, because Soval definitely liked to hurl the occasional zinger, too.

Switching to a more serious tone, he said, "Are you sure you shouldn't be taking Hoshi along? You might need a good translator."

"The UT will suffice. Covert operations require speed and flexibility. The higher our numbers..."

"The greater the risk," Trip said, not wanting to be lectured. "I know you probably also don't believe in luck any more than you do in worrying, but I'm going to wish you luck anyway."

She nodded. "Thank you. I must go. You are in command, Mr. Tucker."

He nodded and waited until she had passed him, and it seemed to him that he could actually feel the heat of her body as she walked by. She exited the ready room and headed for the turbo lift without hesitation; he walked over to the captain's chair and sat down with equal resolution, though he couldn't resist a glance behind him as the turbo lift doors closed.

He wasn't sure why, but he'd had a harder time reining in his pointless interest in T'Pol ever since she'd asked him about Lisa. It was strange. Why would telling someone about an ex-girlfriend make him feel like they were more intimately connected? She'd had good work-related reasons to ask him, after all. And yet her interest had struck him as just a touch too keen, and he'd since caught her looking at him since then in ways that made his heart beat a little faster.

Still, he was probably completely wrong about it. She couldn't possibly be attracted to a smelly, illogical Human. They were friends at best, and that was all they would ever be, and for very good reasons.

He sighed. If she didn't return – which would probably mean Jon and Malcolm wouldn't either – he would probably be spending a hell of a lot of time on this bridge, trying to hold this crew together while they all mourned their losses.

Once upon a time he had dreamed of being the captain of a starship. Now, he just desperately hoped it wouldn't happen for real any time soon.


	20. Horizon

**SPOILERS:** "Horizon"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Horizon" was written by André Bormanis.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Seems to me that in reacting to this episode most TnT fanfic writers fixate on the fact that Archer stepped in where Trip failed and asked T'Pol on a "date" to movie night. Sometimes they work themselves into a big angsty froth about it. After rewatching it, though, I thought it was pretty clear that Trip and Archer were tag-teaming on that little project (though I could definitely imagine Trip coming up with the idea originally). I was instead intrigued by the odd little beat between Trip and T'Pol earlier in the episode when she tells him he'll have time to practice his harmonica. To me this suggested that they had had an earlier conversation on the topic.

Thank you as always, reviewers**. **I got impatient and ran ahead of my beta on this one, so I'm very curious to see if you think I pushed this a little too far.

* * *

Sub-Commander T'Pol stood outside the Commander's quarters and listened to the strange wailing music coming from inside: he was playing his harmonica again.

It was fairly late in the evening, and technically the commander was off-duty, but he had never objected to being interrupted on ship's business before. She buzzed.

The music stopped and after a moment he came to the door, looking a little surprised. "Sub-Commander?"

"May I come in?"

He stood aside and let her walk into his cabin, which was neatly kept, as usual. He was in casual clothing the Humans referred to as 'civvies' – in this case, a vividly red t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. She looked down at his bare feet, suddenly reminded of the time the ship had been captured by aliens and Commander Tucker had spent a fair amount of time dressed in nothing but his underwear.

"Don't tell me, they smell," he said, and started towards his bed. "I'll put some shoes on."

"There's no need for that, Commander." In truth, she found his naked feet oddly endearing, though she dismissed that unseemly thought quickly and focused on her reason for seeing him: "I wanted to consult with you about some science department needs for monitoring the geologic disturbances on the planet."

"Aren't we still two full days away?"

"I'd like to make sure we have enough time to fully test the monitoring system before we need it."

He bit his lip and nodded in that way he sometimes did when he was holding back comment. Apparently he thought she was being unduly hasty, or perhaps rude in interrupting his off-duty time. "However, I can see that you are attempting to enjoy some leisure," she said. "We can have this consultation tomorrow morning." She headed for the door.

"Don't be silly, T'Pol. What does your department need?"

She resisted the urge to insist that Vulcans are never silly, and instead outlined the data she wanted to collect from the planet. He suggested possible solutions. Together, they worked out the kind of equipment that would best solve the problem of how to closely monitor huge volcanic eruptions without endangering the ship: a series of thermal scanners and imaging relays.

"How soon can you have them ready?" T'Pol asked.

Tucker stared down at the padd on which he'd been writing out specs. "I'll shoot this req down right now and give the night shift a head start on it. I would think we'd have everything ready to go late-morning tomorrow." He typed in some commands, presumably for whoever was in Engineering, then looked up at her. "Will that do?"

"Yes, it will do very well."

"Might as well get everything ready a couple of days early."

She noted the edge in his voice and said, "You think I am being unreasonably demanding."

"No, I'd say you're just being very, very efficient. As always." He smiled.

He didn't appear too irritated with her. Indeed, he seldom hid it successfully when he was. "I apologize for interrupting your time off," she said. "I know you were playing your harmonica."

"My neighbors were probably very grateful to you."

"It was an interesting tune."

"St. James Infirmary," he said. "It's a classic old song about a guy whose girlfriend has died." Much to her surprise, he began to sing in a strong, clear baritone, "I went down to St. James Infirmary / Saw my baby there / Set down on a long white table/ So sweet, so cold, so fair. / Let her go, let her go, God bless her, / Wherever she may be, / She can look this wide world over,/ She'll never find a sweet man like me."

She stared at him, a little taken aback by his sudden performance in this private setting, as opposed to the mess hall, where he had once led members of the crew in something they called "Christmas Carols." She was also puzzled by the lyrics of his song. "How could anyone expect a deceased woman to look all over the world for another man?"

He laughed. "Nobody ever said the blues were logical. I take it you're not familiar with the genre."

"No. I have listened to some contemporary jazz."

"Yeah?" Tucker looked interested. "What'd you think?"

"It was … intriguing. More complex than I had expected."

"Mmm," he said. "A lot of contemporary jazz kind of leaves me cold, to tell you the truth. Often, it's all about technical brilliance. The blues, on the other hand – the tunes are pretty simple, and it's all about feelings: broken hearts, busted up lives, homesickness, general misery…." He grinned. "It's probably about as non-Vulcan as you can get."

"Is that why you like it?"

He looked taken aback. "Because it's not Vulcan?"

"Because it's about unhappiness," she said. "Broken hearts. You have, after all, made reference to a number of unsuccessful relationships."

"Just three," Tucker said, looking a little disgruntled. "I don't think that's a lot for a man my age. And _no,_ that's not why I like it. Though I suppose maybe it does help me appreciate it more than I would otherwise."

"You have been playing this instrument more regularly since our encounter with the non-corporeal beings," she observed.

He gave her an oddly piercing look then, as if she were a malfunctioning engine and he was trying to diagnose her. "Have I?"

"As you know, Vulcans have superior hearing," she said. "When I am on the same deck it is hard to miss."

"Oh." He looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry. Does it annoy you?"

"I have ear plugs if it becomes intrusive."

He smiled in what looked like pained amusement. "I see. Would you like to try it?" he asked. "It's a pretty easy instrument to pick up." He played a few notes and then held the instrument out to her.

"You share mouth instruments?" she asked, a little shocked. That could clearly serve as a significant disease vector.

He flushed. "I guess that _is_ kind of gross, huh? I could sterilize it for you. Won't take a minute."

"There's no need, Commander," she said hastily. "I doubt that I would ever be successful in playing 'the blues.' I will leave you to your playing."

"They do say practice makes perfect. Good night, Sub-Commander."

She left, and as she walked down the corridor she noticed that he had begun playing again. This time, however, the tune he played was oddly jaunty.


	21. The Breach

**SPOILERS:** "The Breach"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "The Breach" was written by André Bormanis.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I really didn't see any way to insert a Trip and T'Pol scene into this episode … so I didn't. Technically, it's a Trip and Malcolm scene. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. Fair warning, though: This one gets a little crude.

Thank you as always, reviewers and beta **jT.**

* * *

Solid rock pushed in on him from all sides and no matter how hard he dug his feet in, he made no progress. "Malcolm, hold up! I'm stuck."

The armory officer shuffled in reverse until his boots met up with Trip's pack. "I know it's a little tight, but I got through fine."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little larger than you are."

"A little," Malcolm said grudgingly. "I'll tell you one thing. If any of those Denobulans are shaped like Phlox, there's _no_ _way_ they got through here."

"I'm going to grab your ankles. Try to pull me out."

Malcolm strained mightily. Trip felt himself move ahead slightly, only to stop, more tightly wedged in than ever. Now he couldn't even push backwards. The walls of the lava tube pressed down hard and he reminded himself that this would be a very bad time to panic. "Got any butter?" he asked, only half-joking.

"Tuck your shoulders under. And when I count to three, exhale."

"Okay."

Thankfully, it worked. Malcolm was able to pull Trip far enough ahead that he could finally get moving on his own. "Guess I'd better lose some weight before we head back," Trip said.

When the tube finally opened out enough for them to sit up, they took a short break. "Don't eat too much," Malcolm said.

"Ha ha. Can you believe that I thought this sounded like fun?"

"Personally, I'm just glad this is a _dry_ cave."

"And I can't help wondering – even if we do find the Denobulans, how the hell do we get Travis out?"

"We have two strong backs. It's just your basic rescue operation."

"Yeah, but your basic rescue operation takes time. Even if we find these Denobulans before we have to turn around, I'm not sure we can really get out of here before the deadline passes."

"I doubt the Xantharas are going crawl down this hole in the ground just to find us," Malcolm said.

"No, if they're smart, they'll just wait for us to come out." Trip sighed.

"Is someone feeling a little grumpy?" Malcolm sounded annoyingly chipper. "I couldn't help noticing that the captain managed to get our science officer to see one of your god-awful horror movies. He even called it a date. It's been the talk of the ship."

Trip rolled his eyes. "She went _all three_ nights, and only the first time was with the cap'n. Plus, I had to explain to her that he didn't really mean anything by calling it a date. She was pretty much freaking out, in that Vulcan way of hers."

"What makes you so sure it doesn't mean anything? The captain isn't blind. Maybe he's _also_ noticed how attractive she is."

Trip frowned. "First of all, if he really _did_ want to ask her out, he wouldn't. Two, I'm really the one who got the whole thing started. He just jumped in when she got stubborn. Of course, what neither of us realized was that we were creating our own monster in the process. You haven't lived until you've heard a Vulcan dissect a horror movie."

"So it was really you who wanted to ask T'Pol out on a date?"

"No, I did not want to ask her out on a date! I just wanted her to see a horror movie."

"Why?"

Trip packed up the remains of his ration pak. "I dunno." He grinned. "I suppose maybe I _was_ kind of hoping she would jump or scream or something."

Malcolm shook his head. "And how would that help anything?"

"I just like to see what she does. It's entertaining."

Malcolm gave him a knowing look. "I see. You like playing _Poke the Vulcan_."

Trip scowled. "We'd better get moving."

Malcolm zipped up his pack and shoved it ahead of him down the tube. "I'll grant you, she _is_ very poke-able."

"Actually, no, she isn't. Thus the challenge." Maybe he _was _getting a little stir-crazy out here in space. That was the only good explanation for the way he kept pushing T'Pol the way he did. Even if he'd sensed a slight opening there – a kind of helpless fascination with him, or perhaps with all Humans – there was no future in it. Vulcans didn't date. Vulcans probably never even kissed. He could still hear the horror in her voice when he'd offered her his harmonica. "I don't see how people who won't even touch their food ever have sex," he said.

"She touched the popcorn the captain offered her."

Yeah, he'd noticed that, too. It had definitely given him a moment's pause. She'd turned down his harmonica, but she'd taken the captain's popcorn? But the next night he'd wangled himself a seat next to her during _Bride of Frankenstein_, and she'd taken popcorn from him, too. She'd even made a comment about the Monster having a broken heart.

"So maybe there's some hope," Malcolm added.

"I wouldn't count on it," Trip said. "I bet Vulcans are a really bad lay. They wait seven years, and then they probably ritually disinfect themselves and copulate very efficiently in some sort of clean room, with as little risk of cross-contamination as possible. It's hard to imagine them, you know, _enjoying_ it. And getting down and dirty? Forget about it."

Malcolm snorted. "I see you've thought this through."

"I'm sure every straight man on the ship has," Trip said, though he was also willing to bet that, like him, they usually imagined it _quite _differently. "The way I see it, there's about as much chance of one of us getting lucky with T'Pol as there is of a fairy godmother coming down and whisking us out of this cave right now."

"I'd settle for that," Malcolm said. "Preferably a really good-looking fairy godmother, though. One who doesn't mind getting down and dirty."

Tucker snickered. "Keep moving, Lieutenant."

"Aye, aye, Commander."


	22. Cogenitor

**SPOILERS:** "Cogenitor"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Cogenitor" was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I really didn't see any good way to insert a Trip and T'Pol scene into this episode, either, so I tacked a couple on at the end, instead. Thank you as always, reviewers and beta **jT. **

* * *

T'Pol hovered over her panel in the bridge. The captain had called her in her quarters and asked her to come to the Bridge and wait there until he called her into his ready room; they had matters to discuss.

Not long after, Tucker exited the ready room and passed by her on his way to the turbolift. He looked ill, even dazed, and did not so much as glance in her direction – or anyone else's – before disappearing into the turbo lift. The gamma shift crew exchanged glances.

Why had the captain felt the need to further discipline Tucker now, so late at night? He had already been put on report in anticipation of further disciplinary action.

Rather than waiting for Archer's call she went over and buzzed the ready room door.

It took a little longer than usual for the captain to say his customary "Come in." When she entered, he was staring out the window, something she'd learned to associate with strong emotions on his part. He didn't turn around as he announced, "The cogenitor is dead. She – it – committed suicide. Captain Drennick called to tell me."

"That is most regrettable," T'Pol said. That certainly explained the sickly pallor of Tucker's face. He would be experiencing grief, and presumably guilt as well.

Archer might be feeling responsible too, having turned down its request for asylum. "You made the right decision," she assured him, once again, for it was true. Relations with the Vissians would have been permanently damaged, and while Humans could make beguiling company – Commander Tucker, in particular, could be a congenial companion – how happy would the creature have been in the long term, exiled so far from its own kind, or anything even remotely analogous to its own kind? This was perhaps especially true if it had an impulsive, depressive personality to begin with, as seemed likely.

"Obviously I've let things get out of hand," Archer said. "I can't believe Trip took it into his head to do something like that. Apparently, we need some sort of…" He threw up his hands and began to pace. "I don't know. A training program. A set of procedures. More specific guidelines to follow than we already have when interacting with other cultures. Trip had the nerve to tell me this was something _I_ would do! I don't understand how he could even _begin_ to think that."

Did he truly have no idea? "Perhaps he saw how you helped the Suliban escape their prison camp, and the Deuterium miners defeat the Klingons, and judged that you considered interference justified in some situations. Indeed, you recently congratulated him on his willingness to stay and risk death with the Arkonian pilot. I believe you said that it might have demonstrated to the Arkonians 'what Humanity is all about'. "

"Those situations weren't the same at all!" Archer said impatiently. "We weren't helping a single individual rebel against his – her – its – entire society there."

"True. There were approximately sixty individuals involved in each of the first two situations."

He gave her a dark look. "So you do think this is my fault."

"Assigning fault strikes me as fairly unhelpful in this situation. However, I agree that setting up some more detailed policies and procedures and related training would be quite useful."

Archer sat down. "I want to be able to just trust my people to do the right thing. _Especially _Trip. I don't understand how he could run so far off the rails, especially after you warned him."

She had been wondering that herself, but she had a working theory. "I believe the commander often feels a compulsion to reach out to individuals he sees as alienated or marginalized in some way." Indeed, this probably explained the commander's early friendliness towards _her_.

Archer stared at her, clearly thinking it through, before his face cleared. "You know, I think you're right. He's always been the one to go gather up the lost sheep. I think half his staff worships him just because of that. He would recognize that someone had a real genius for something, even though they might be a little rough around the edges, and then he'd recruit them onto his staff and teach them how to play well with others." He sat down in his chair. "Hell, that might explain a couple of his ex-girlfriends, too."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

Archer said, "The same thing sort of happened to him, you know. Jeffries recruited him into his engineering program right out of high school. Trip had wowed everybody with something brilliant – I can't remember exactly what it was – in a national competition. So he completed his advanced training _while_ he was working on warp engines for Starfleet. That's why he's such a young commander. Maybe tooyoung."

"He handled command appropriately during the crisis on Paan Makar."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I hate to let something like this screw up his career. And if I know Trip, he'll be feeling so terrible for so long that he'll have learned his lesson a hundred times over, maybe even…." He stopped short, the color draining out of his face.

"Captain?"

"I was … angry. I think I might have laid it on a little thick."

English could still baffle her. "Laid _what _on a little thick?"

"Trip takes things to heart. I'd hate … I think maybe I'd better go talk to him. Damn. Look, what I'd like you to do is … draw up some ideas for some more specific first-contact policies and procedures, say by the end of this week. Ask for suggestions from Malcolm, Hoshi, maybe even Phlox. We'll loop Trip in, too, when … when he can handle it." Archer went to a compartment and brought down a bottle and two glasses.

"It's quite late for a social visit," she remarked.

"He won't be asleep," Archer said. "If I know him, he may not sleep for days. " He gave her a tight smile. "Thanks, T'Pol. It's good to have someone to bounce things off of. But I think I'd better go now." He tucked the bottle under his arm and left.

T'Pol followed him out. Archer headed straight for the turbo-lift. The gamma shift personnel exchanged another round of curious looks.

Archer was _worried_, she suddenly realized. Did he fear the commander would do something extreme – as the cogenitor had? Tucker himself had once warned her about watching for the possibility of suicide in the crew. Did Archer think _Tucker_ was at risk?

She returned to her station and pulled up internal sensors. There were Commander Tucker's quarters. And there was Commander Tucker's bio-sign, moving back and forth, door to window, window to door. Eventually, another bio-sign entered the room. The two signs kept a distance from each other. There was a peculiar, almost circular pattern to their shifting positions. _Two Humans discussing a painful topic,_ she thought, absent-mindedly giving it a scientific label.

After staring for some time at the little glowing orbs, she realized that this was hardly a productive use of her time. Captain Archer could handle any emergency, if there was one. There was no need for concern. She should go to bed. Even for a Vulcan, it was getting quite late.

But instead, she worked through the scans from the Vissian stratopod and periodically returned to her internal sensors. Eventually the two bio-signs in Commander Tucker's quarters settled down into closer proximity – they were sitting on bed and desk chair, respectively, she decided.

When she checked again later, there was just one bio-sign. It had returned to pacing. Archer had not returned to the bridge, so perhaps he had gone to bed. Yes, there he was, along with the smaller orb that marked Porthos, in his quarters. Just as she should be in hers. She finished her work with the Vissian scans and ran an internal scan of the Commander's quarters one more time.

One bio-sign, pacing back and forth.

x x x

She stopped outside his quarters. Her Vulcan hearing caught the faint plodding of footfalls inside. It was nearly 0300. Surely he must be exhausted?

Apparently Archer's company and alcohol had not been sufficient to soothe him.

She thought about buzzing for admission. Unfortunately, she had no reason to think she could offer any comfort. Tucker clearly felt that she was in the wrong about this issue. From the beginning, she'd argued against his involvement with the cogenitor, and from the beginning, he had utterly disregarded her.

Perhaps he had developed a deep attachment to the creature. Perhaps he had even fallen in love with it – he had, after all, called it _her_. What was it Archer had implied about Tucker's ex-girlfriends? That they had been "lost sheep" as well? That might explain his irrational pursuit of disaster in this case.

How could one man's heart open to so many different women of so many species in so little time? Not even just women, but strange, oddly-gendered beings, too? Wasn't there was something almost pathological about it, even by Human standards?

And why was _she_ loitering here in the corridor, listening to his footfalls, as if doing so served any purpose? Did she intend to stand here all night?

Suddenly the door slid open and Commander Tucker burst out of his room. He stopped short and stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot and hooded, his face had darkened with the growth of facial hair, and the fine blond hair on his head was sticking up oddly in a number of places. There was also, unsurprisingly, a strong taint of alcohol on his breath.

She stared back, overcome with an unpleasant sensation she recognized from childhood: embarrassment. She must be overtired. "Commander," she said, straightening to her full height as she summoned her control. "Are you well?"

"I'll survive," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe Captain Archer was concerned about you."

Tucker grimaced. "Yeah, he came by. But that was some time ago."

"I was returning to my quarters. I heard you pacing."

Tucker looked at her in confusion. "And…?"

"I was concerned. It is quite late."

His mouth flattened. "You know what happened. To Charles."

"Yes. I grieve with thee."

He looked taken aback for a moment. "Well, thanks, I guess. I'm going to get a glass of milk. Maybe it will help me sleep." He said it ruefully, as if he doubted it would work.

Perhaps milk reminded Humans of being safe in the arms of their mothers. When Vulcans were suffering with emotional or physical difficulties that could not be sufficiently addressed through meditation, they often sought relief through neuropressure from a family member.

But Mr. Tucker was not a family member. It would be improper to offer it to him. She hoped the milk would be sufficient.

Perhaps because she had not responded, he added, "You're welcome to join me, but I doubt I'd be very good company."

"I should get some sleep," she said, because it was true.

"Okay," he said, looking confused again. "Well, good night." He turned and walked away.

She watched him go before turning in the direction of her own quarters. She should attempt to obtain at least a few hours of sleep before the next day began.

At least now she was confident she would be able to do so. While Commander Tucker was clearly unhappy, she felt reasonably certain that he would still be with them in the morning.

* * *

Additional note: No, I _don't _think Trip has suicidal tendencies. But T'Pol is less sanguine about it than I am. I suppose I seem to be suggesting here that ARCHER might think Trip could be in danger, which is perhaps a stretch, but given the way Archer stomped on him at the end of that episode, I don't mind pushing it a little. In truth, though, I suspect Archer is _more _worried that once Trip gets over the initial shock, he won't forgive him for what he said. I think he's realized that a little captain and chief engineer bonding time at the next planet might not be enough this time.

But I welcome your feedback, positive or negative. This episode usually stirs up some debate.


	23. Regeneration

**SPOILERS:** "Regeneration"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Regeneration" was written by Mike Sussman and Phyllis Strong.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you as always, reviewers and (intermittent) beta **jT. **(In my impatience to get this season done, I'm afraid running ahead of her. I want to finish this season and go on hiatus for a little while.)

* * *

When she went to the mess hall that night for a cup of chamomile tea, T'Pol noted that Commander Tucker was slumped over a mug and most of a piece of pie, but didn't appear to be eating or drinking. Instead he was staring tiredly at nothing; he hadn't even looked up when she had come into the otherwise empty room.

"May I join you?" she asked.

He looked up and squinted at her. "Can't promise I'll be good company."

"My primary purpose in sitting here would be to drink my tea."

He smiled and gestured at the seat in front of her. "Shouldn't be a problem, then."

She sat and sipped.

He took a sip of what she could smell was coffee and grimaced. "Excuse me while I warm this up a little." He got up stiffly and walked over to the beverage dispenser and re-filled his cup, rolling his neck on his shoulders as he went. She reflected once again that this discomfort would be easy to eliminate with neuropressure, if she could offer it to him, which she couldn't. That was assuming he would even accept it. She had once offered to teach him Vulcan meditation techniques and he had said, "Thanks, but I've never had any luck with _human _meditation techniques. I don't think adding another layer of weirdness to it is going to help me any."

"Perhaps you should ask Phlox for an analgesic," she said.

"Nah, I'll be fine."

"How are repairs going?"

"All the important stuff's done. There's just a lot of cleaning up, now. But I want to go back and scour those plasma relays for any leftover alien hardware. I'm going to have nightmares about green stuff taking over the ship if I don't."

"There is no indication that their hardware propagates spontaneously outside of an organic environment."

"Outside of a _person_, you mean?" His expression had darkened. "We use nano-probes ourselves to diagnose problems and scrub conduits, and keeping track of them can be a real pain in the ass. Who knows what they are capable of?"

"Even if they left something behind, any ability to control it was probably lost with their ship."

He grimaced. "We _hope_."

"I could set up some additional internal scans. Even small, incremental changes should be easy to notice."

"That sounds good," he said. "But I still want to take another look at that area myself. At least the stuff is easy to see in that day-glo green. I'd say that was a tactical error on their part." He stretched his neck again.

"It's after 0200. You should get some sleep. Perhaps someone from your gamma shift team could begin the project."

"Gamma got roused out of their beds for the tactical alert, so they're not going to be that much better off than I am. I'm used to going without sleep." He took another sip of coffee.

This was unfortunately true. After the incident with the cogenitor, she had often found the commander haunting the mess hall in the early morning hours – but she had hoped that traumatic episode was now in the past. "Perhaps milk would be a better choice than coffee at this hour."

"Yeah, if I wasn't trying to _stay awake_."

With any other crewman except Archer, she would have simply made it an order to go to bed, but she was reluctant to do that with Tucker, which suddenly struck her as odd. Was this a relic of their early service together, when the chain of command had often been a source of friction between them?

The reality was that they had, over the years, adopted an unspoken pattern of consulting together as equals which only really changed when she was in command and Archer was absent – and even then Tucker sometimes resisted her orders.

This had had some unfortunate results. He had felt free to ignore her suggestions about the cogenitor. And he would undoubtedly feel free to ignore her suggestion to get some sleep now – perhaps even _more _so if she made it an order.

Which meant, objectively speaking, that Tucker had _successfully_ resisted her authority.

She frowned, staring at his head bowed over his coffee mug. This should probably bother her as a supervisory failure on her part. However, they had reached a kind of equilibrium that usually worked fairly well, and she saw little logic in getting into a power struggle with him now.

Besides, one could always attempt to manage peers and even one's own supervisor. With Archer she had learned that certain pointed remarks, especially when delivered somewhat obliquely, could sometimes spark the desired result. (They could also make him angry, depending on how determined he was to follow the course he had settled upon.) Tucker tended to respond better to a more direct approach; indeed, she generally tried to get his full attention face-to-face when he needed persuading, even stepping into his 'personal space' if the matter was important enough.

That was problematic at the moment, with a table between them. "You need sleep," she said, leaning forward. She pinned him with a steady gaze and said, "I am sure you would be the first to tell your staff it is unwise to work with plasma flow regulators when you are fatigued."

He met her eyes for a long moment, then sighed again, visibly capitulating. "Okay. I'll try to sleep. But if I have nightmares about glowing green tubes running amuck, it's your fault."

"That is a risk I am willing to take."

He chuckled briefly and got to his feet. "Don't suppose you want the rest of my pie?"

"You may leave it," she said. She could clear his dishes for him. "Goodnight, Commander."

"G'night, T'Pol," he said, and trailed his fingertips briefly over her shoulder as he walked off.

She deliberately sipped the remainder of her tea and stared at his nearly-untouched pie and pondered the many ways in which extended service on a Human ship had changed her.

This was the first time since the abortive handshake when they first met that Tucker had attempted to touch her in a purely social way, and this time he hadn't even given her a choice about it: he'd just reached out and done it.

It should have irritated her.

Instead, it had felt… surprisingly agreeable.


	24. First Flight

**SPOILERS:** "First Flight"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "First Flight" was written by John Shiban and Chris Black.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you, reviewers and beta **jT. **I always thought T'Pol's arrival in the shuttle pod at the beginning of this episode seemed suspiciously smooth.

* * *

All those near-misses in space, and the man ended up dying by falling off a mountain.

What were the chances?

Trip scowled. The chances were excellent. Like a lot of test pilots, A.G. was an adrenaline junkie who loved to flirt with mortality – and the more near-misses he survived, the more daring he got. Trip had decided long ago that it was a serious risk to be a passenger in one of A.G.'s vehicles – in space _or _on the ground. A.G. made Jon look like a paragon of caution, and that was saying something.

"Commander?"

He looked up from the charges he was rigging at a work table in Engineering. It was routine work, and at the moment he was grateful for it. "Sub-Commander?"

"The captain appears to be rather…"

"Upset?"

"Yes."

"He just lost a good friend."

"Did you know Commander Robinson?"

"I did." Trip put a completed charge down and moved on to the next one.

"So this is emotional for you as well?"

Trip licked his lips and looked up. "I wasn't as close to him as the cap'n was. But yeah, it's sad. For one thing, I'm sure A.G. would have preferred to go doing his job rather than just … you know, vacationing."

She was silent for a moment. "Why would death on the job be preferable to death while vacationing?"

Trip looked up. Why indeed? "There's not much out there more dangerous than being a test pilot. A.G. loved to push the limits. I think those guys always half-expect to go out in a blaze of glory."

"The willingness of Humans to accept high levels of risk in pursuit of technological progress has concerned the High Command from the beginning of our species' relationship."

"Yeah, you are definitely a lot more cautious than we are." He cocked his head and looked up at her speculatively. He wasn't sure that was actually true of _T'Pol_. At least not anymore.

"Perhaps Vulcans have a more rational understanding of risk."

"Perhaps," Trip said. "Or maybe, since you live a lot longer, you feel as if you have more to lose. For Humans there's actually a fairly short period of time in which to make your mark – to accomplish your goals. At any rate, I think it's safe to say that A.G. believed in living large."

She raised an eyebrow. "Living large?"

Someday he really should sit down and compile _Tucker's Handbook of English Idioms for Vulcans_. "That has different meanings, but in this case, I mean it like … I don't know … living dangerously. Living life to the fullest. Living without restraint." Trip shrugged and moved on the next charge. "The guy definitely wasn't lacking in…" He wanted to say _cajones,_ or _testosterone_, but that would require yet more explanation, and probably also make them all sound like hormonal apes. "Gusto."

"He was courageous."

"Yep."

"Reckless?"

"Sometimes. But don't tell the cap'n I said that."

"Is Commander Robinson a person the captain emulates?" T'Pol looked concerned.

"I wouldn't put it that way, exactly. You should probably ask him about it."

"He did not appear to want any discussion on the topic."

"Well, give him time," Trip said. He put down the completed charge and looked at her. "Hey, look. I won't be surprised if he's going to want to go off by himself and brood. And he's probably thinking this is the perfect opportunity."

"It is against regulations for the captain to leave the ship unaccompanied."

Trip gave her a tight smile. Did she think that mattered?

She frowned. "Was Commander Robinson _also_ quick to disregard Starfleet regulations?"

"Well, let's just say there are regulations and then there are regulations. But I think we should be prepared for the Cap'n to try to hotfoot it out of here. If I can't get myself on board that shuttle pod with him, you should probably be ready to do it. He has a harder time saying no to you than to me."

"That has not been _my _experience."

"You're also a lot more credible citing regulations than I am. Just don't take no for an answer."

She frowned, clearly uncomfortable.

"Who knows, maybe you'll be the first Vulcan in history to see a dark matter nebula."

"As you would say, I'll believe it when I see it. When will the charges be ready?"

Trip looked down at his work. "I've just got one more after this one. Another 15 or 20 minutes or so – more if you want me to test one ahead of time."

"The captain wanted to launch by 1100."

"No time for testing, then," Trip said. "But I wouldn't say it's necessary. This is a pretty fool-proof configuration." He added another finished charge to the case and moved on to the next one.

"There is no guarantee it will work even if we do encounter sufficient amounts of dark matter. Open space is a very different environment than a lab."

"Well, you never know until you try," Trip said lightly, as he wrestled with a recalcitrant piece of housing.

"Indeed. That appears to be the underlying philosophy of the entire Earth space program."

He bore down hard, grunting, and the housing finally opened. "You could be right about that. Doesn't make a very stirring motto, though." Trip smiled at her. "I think maybe you're finally beginning to understand us, Sub-Commander."

Her eyes narrowed. "_Finally?_"

He grinned and focused on the charge in his hands. "I'll take these down to the shuttle pod as soon as I'm finished. Just be ready to move if he turns me down."

"I'm sure quite that you would be a better companion, especially if the captain is coping with strong feelings."

"I think the cap'n relies on you to help him work things out a lot more than you realize. Even the emotional stuff."

She gave him a profoundly nonplussed look.

"That's a good thing," he said. "That's part of the first officer's job."

She stared at him for another moment, then left.

It used to be part of the chief engineer's job too, Trip thought. And he'd keep trying to do it, for whatever it was worth. But he wasn't trying quite as hard as he used to.

A.G.'s death may have marked the end of an era, but in reality those days had been gone for awhile now.


	25. Bounty

**SPOILERS:** "Bounty"

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "Bounty" was written by Hans Tobeason, Mike Sussman and Phyllis Strong from a story by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **It has always really bugged me that Phlox didn't give T'Pol a straight answer to her question, and I took off from there, though I'm not sure there's any way to deal with this episode that isn't going to be a little bit icky. Many thanks to beta **jT, **whose issues with the first draft pushed me into a much more satisfying version**.**

**Additional note: **"The Expanse" is not coming easy, so I've decided to go into hiatus and leave that last one undone for now. But I will be back to finish that episode at some point before the summer is out and I'm looking forward to delving into the third season eventually. For now, I've got rooms to paint, paths to build, and a real novel to revise. And thanks so much, reviewers. Your generosity in letting me know you enjoyed it - and your constructive feedback - is what has made doing this this a real pleasure.

* * *

It was absolutely maddening that a Denobulan's discomfort with discussing certain topics was even greater than a Vulcan's discomfort in discussing certain topics. How could Phlox not tell her? She'd asked more than once, as tactfully as she could, and she really didn't think it was asking too much to let a woman _know_ if she'd engaged in sexual intercourse with the ship's physician.

Once released from decon, she'd gone to her room and tried to determine the answer for herself, but failed. How did one know these things, for certain? Phlox was the one who knew how to determine such matters, not her.

Even now, hours later, a low hum of nervous adrenaline was coursing through her body, making her restless and anxious. Phlox had ordered 24 hours of bed rest in her quarters. But she didn't need bed rest. What she needed was an answer.

She should meditate. Instead, she paced back and forth.

She was the ship's executive officer. She could access certain records. And every crewman could access his or her own medical records. But what were the chances that Phlox would actually have made note of such an event, if it had occurred?

She took a steadying breath and tried to focus. She really should meditate. It was what every Vulcan since Surak would advise her to do right now. So she lit a candle and starred doggedly at it, rocking slightly in her meditation pose, willing herself into her white space.

Nothing happened. The candle wick sputtered and burned. Wax pooled. She could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.

The door buzzed.

She got up eagerly. If it was Phlox…

But it was Commander Tucker. His eyes met hers and then slid away. "Hey. I hope I didn't wake you. How are ya feeling?"

Why was he here? "I'm fine."

"I'm real sorry to interrupt, but Malcolm and I have had kind of a delicate situation to deal with. And I thought you might want to be aware of it, since it concerns you."

She stared at him. "Come in," she said. Did this mean Reed and Tucker knew what had happened? Did Archer know too? Was she perhaps the only one on the ship who DIDN'T know? "I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about."

"Phlox said you might not remember."

"I know I was … somewhat discomposed by illness," she said. "But I have very little memory of actual events." She knew it was the _pon farr_, of course - but she was hardly going to admit that to Tucker. She distinctly remembered fingering Phlox's distinctive spinal folds, and feeling very hot and uncomfortable. She remembered Tucker's face in a window. It seemed to her there was also something about EV suits. But mostly it was all inchoate sensations of hunger, frustration, fury, desperation, and desire. Especially desire. It seemed she felt dull echoes of it even now, for she was suddenly conscious of Commander Tucker, a man, standing in enticingly close proximity.

She crossed her arms over her chest and backed away, embarrassed.

Tucker looked as embarrassed as she felt. "Well. As you know, whenever anyone on board discharges a weapon, a full incident report has to be filed. So, you see…" He raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Yes?"

"You really don't remember _any_ of it?"

She felt a cold chill. "Did I shoot someone?"

"No, you got shot – stunned, I mean. By security. After you broke out of decon."

She felt her knees weaken just slightly. That explained the EV suits.

"Maybe you'd better sit down," Tucker said, reaching out an arm and guiding her to her bed.

She sank down onto the edge of the mattress, curling in on herself. To her great relief, he sat down next to her. His failure to maintain eye contact was unnerving. "How many people saw me?" she asked.

"Just three, besides Dr. Phlox. And they all knew you were ill. It was pretty obvious you were not yourself. You don't need to worry. They all know it was a health matter and very, very private."

Three. Four, with Phlox. Five, with Tucker. She felt a little nauseated. It would be all over the ship by now. "The captain?"

"Cap'n Archer doesn't know any details. We just told him you got sick and … a little irrational. The thing is, though, this whole thing went down in the corridors, which means there's security footage..."

Of course. That might at least answer her question. "I'd like to see it."

"That might not be such a good idea," Tucker said quickly. "You _really_ weren't yourself. Normally those recordings would be appended to the incident report, but in this case, since it has to do with a confidential medical situation, we'll want to forego that. But even putting in a note to that effect kind of raises questions, too, so…" He took a breath. "Malcolm and I think it would be best if we just kind of … had a technical difficulty. You know, lost the recording. So really, I just came here because I wanted to let you know that. So you don't need to worry that someone might see it someday."

"But what if _I _want to see it?"

Now he got up and put some distance between them. T'Pol felt a spike of sheer dread. What had she done? "You obviously weren't yourself," he said.

"Have_ you _seen it?"

His face had turned a little red. "No. Malcolm gave me a pretty full report, though."

She stared down at her tightly-clasped hands. "Commander Tucker. If you had a large block of time missing from your memory and no one was willing to tell you what you did during it, wouldn't _you_ want to know?"

He sighed and dug out a padd, which he handed her. "I had a feeling you might feel that way. When you're done, take that chip out and throw it in solid waste recycling. Problem solved."

"_One_ problem."

He looked alarmed. "You got another one?"

"There are recordings of the decon chamber too, aren't there?"

"Those are medical records," Tucker said. "They're kept totally private. You've got nothing to worry about."

"But I want to see them. I _need_ to see them."

"You'd have to ask Phlox."

"Phlox refuses to help me."

Tucker made a face. "T'Pol. Even if I did know how to breach those protocols, I could get into some pretty serious trouble…."

"If you do it from my quarters, it would be indistinguishable from _me_ accessing my _own_ records. That would hardly be a court-martial offense."

"What's the point? You won't be able to destroy them. They're backed up automatically and nobody but Starfleet Medical has access to _that _server."

"I don't have to destroy them. I just want to know what happened. Phlox won't tell me. It is _extremely_ frustrating... and illogical! _Anyone_ in my situation would have a reasonable desire to know …" She lowered her voice. "What _happened._"

He sighed. "Well, I saw you for a few moments in there. You ate some food with your hands like it was going out of style. But that's all I noticed." Once again, he looked away uncomfortably.

She noticed his new distance with something akin to panic. Not again. Not now. She had an almost overwhelming impulse to do whatever it took – call him "Trip" – shake his shoulders – anything to make him acknowledge her. Instead, she just sat there on the edge of the bed, wrestling as best she could against such inappropriate impulses.

In her silence, Tucker gave in. "I had a feeling I should just leave this alone," he muttered, and sat down at her monitor, frowning. As she watched, he quickly worked his way into the main computer's operating system, and then started tracing his way through a series of virtual back doors. Apparently he was quite skilled at this.

Finally, he grunted and pointed his finger. "Okay, here it is. Decon. Yesterday through today. I haven't seen these and frankly I don't _want_ to see them, so I'm out of here." He got up quickly, and headed for the door.

"Commander."

He turned around.

"Thank you. I appreciate your help and your … discretion."

He nodded a little grimly and left and once again she had to fight down a sense of panic. What if everything had changed?

Well. At least she would know why, if she watched the files.

And so she sat down at her monitor and watched intently as the early discomfort she vaguely remembered gave way to horrifying displays she could not remember at all. Poor Phlox had been very hard put to keep her at bay.

It was humiliating to see herself so out of control. And yet it was also oddly fascinating. T'Pol had never much thought of herself as a sexual being before, but there she was, wantonly pursuing satisfaction, even clumsily attempting seduction. To her great relief, it appeared that that she did not need to be concerned about an _actual _liaison with the ship's physician. She was glad she apparently hadn't seriously injured him, either. Relieved, she closed the files. As long as Phlox and Starfleet Medical were discreet – and no one as capable of Tucker went hacking into them – her behavior in decon would remain safely hidden.

She moved on to the recording Tucker had given her on the padd. There she was, running through the corridors in her underwear. Worse, she'd called Reed _Malcolm _and made reference to his interest in her, then all but attempted to climb into his suit. He looked disgusted, as well he might. She wondered how he would look at her from across the bridge now. It probably wouldn't help that she'd managed to throw him across the corridor.

Had he told Tucker _everything? _Was that the reason for his new distance? And would this be because she'd pursued Lieutenant Reed? Or because she'd proven so violent? Or both? No doubt he would be even more skeptical of her logic now.

Indeed, she felt skeptical of it herself. She would not have believed that somewhere inside her a creature that ravenous waited for release. If all Vulcans were like this, perhaps it was no wonder they were so rigidly in control the rest of the time. Perhaps a certain degree of formalized hypocrisy was inevitable when the veneer of civility was going to be ripped away from you at regular intervals, as if to mock you for all your hard-won logic.

She took the chip out of the padd and stared at it. She would take it to solid waste recycling herself, when she could leave her quarters. She wanted to know for certain that it had dissolved into a vat of acid.

She went back to her bed and leaned down, smelling the spot on the bed where Tucker had sat. She wished he had not left, even though she was also relieved that he had. She pulled the bedcover up and hugged it to herself. Her pulse was still thudding. Attempting meditation again would be pointless – and so was speculating about how widespread her behavior would become known. It was a small ship. Word would get out. Obviously, T'Pol of Vulcan had found yet another way in which to become notorious.

But perhaps she was getting used to that.

Because yes, she was embarrassed, humiliated, appalled, horrified.

But, in truth, she was also just a bit … excited.


	26. The Expanse

**SPOILERS:** "The Expanse" and it may not make sense without it.

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount. "The Expanse" was written by Rick Berman and Brannon Braga.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **And so ends the missing scenes for season two. For this one, I had a lot of time to play with so I gave you more than usual. In essence, I decided to explore what might have inspired T'Pol to tell Phlox, "Delicate is not a word I associate with Mr. Tucker" in "The Xindi."

Thank you as always, reviewers and beta **jT. **

* * *

Trip scowled down at the various components of an antimatter injector in pieces on a workbench in engineering.

Why had it failed?

Yes, obviously, the hairline crack in one of the injector lens had caused it to stop functioning properly, but what had caused _that_? _Enterprise_ hadn't been so much as rocked by a hard turn for weeks. They had hit a particularly empty section of space. No new civilizations. No star systems. No other starships. Their biggest enemy was boredom.

Or perhaps their biggest enemy was the chance that all their antimatter injectors were about to fail, leaving them stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.

Trip had spares, but not enough to replace all of them if they went bad all at once. Antimatter injectors were expensive because they were manufactured to extremely precise specifications; their key parts included dilithium crystal cut into lenses that were used to focus a controlled stream of particles, as well as rare and expensive metal alloys. They could not be improvised from just any old thing in stores.

He tapped his com. "Hess, let's swap out two more of the antimatter injectors. I want to check them out."

"Got it," she said quickly, as if she'd been waiting for the order. Perhaps she had been. He had been sensing a touch of impatience with him from her lately.

He stared down at the small cracked lens in his hand. Usually when he encountered a puzzle like this, he took the part in question to T'Pol for a sub-molecular scan. Unfortunately, right now he was trying to avoid T'Pol.

Which was stupid,of course. He would have to take it to her. This was more important than the fact that her recent little episode of microbe-induced out-of-control libido had him profoundly rattled.

For one thing, he couldn't help wondering if just maybe their science officer harbored a secret attraction to their armory officer. If what Malcolm had said was true, she'd definitely come onto him while 'under the influence.' You'd think Malcolm would be delirious with joy about it. He wasn't, though. Perhaps the sore shoulder she'd inflicted on him by throwing him across the corridor had dampened his enthusiasm – that had to be hard on a man who prided himself on his combat techniques. Unfortunately, it hadn't been enough to stifle his enthusiasm for speculating to Trip about what had turned their prim science officer into such a wild woman.

Not that Trip was sure he could ever entirely put that completely out of his own head, either. How could he forget that smoldering look she'd pinned on him from decon – or the way she'd crammed a handful of food in her mouth like some kind of starving animal? Nor could he forget her near-panic that she didn't know exactly what had happened with Phlox.

So perhaps it wasn't so much Malcolm she'd been hot for as _any_ guy. But that was distressing in a whole different way. It didn't fit with his previous idea of T'Pol at all. Hell, he doubted it fit with _T"Pol's_ previous idea of T'Pol.

Which all just added up to the inescapable conclusion that_, hello,_ Vulcans really were alien. Not just cute, extremely logical Humans with pointy ears and bad haircuts, but really _alien_ aliens. And Trip had a proven track record of screwing things up in that department. It didn't help that he was now also absolutely certain that at least part of his interest in T"Pol was inappropriate. He knew that because every time Malcolm made the slightest reference to what T'Pol had said to him, Trip's gut clenched with jealousy.

So … he'd backed off a little. It was important to keep that relationship professional, and he'd already had enough screw-ups with aliens to last a lifetime.

Perversely enough, T'Pol had responded to his greater distance by finding excuses to seek him out – she'd even suggested a movie she was interested in viewing for movie night. He just kept demurring, as politely as he could. The last time he'd given her an excuse for something, she'd just said, "I understand," in a low voice. After that she had stopped trying to engage him any further.

And that had made him feel like shit.

It had also left him pretty lonely. Apparently he had begun to rely on T'Pol more than he realized for day-to-day company. Of course the new tension between him and Malcolm didn't help. Trip had barked at him at one point when Malcolm was going on yet again about what had happened with T'Pol. Trip really just didn't want to hear it.

Even Archer was a bit cranky these days, probably mostly because he was bored, but he'd also been giving Trip the evil eye at meal times when conversation died. This irritated Trip. Why did _he_ always have to be the one to keep batting the ball back?

And meanwhile there was this stupid antimatter injector lens. Which he was going to have to take to T'Pol.

It made him half wish something would happen to take his mind off all the drama.

That was when Hoshi called him to an emergency meeting of all senior staff.

x x x

Three million sentient beings dead. Even for a Vulcan, it was a difficult number to fully grasp. For a Vulcan surrounded by Humans who were now all angrily adjusting their view of the universe – and coping with personal losses, in some cases – it was particularly challenging.

So it was perhaps just as well that a new distance had already set in between her and Commander Tucker before this happened.

She had feared the loss of his friendship, but in truth this was not as unpleasant a break as the last time. In that case, he'd been angry, and she had sensed real animus from him. Since her abortive episode of _pon farr_, he had struck her mostly as wary and regretful, but not harboring any ill will. His excuses sounded embarrassed and apologetic. "I'm sorry, T'Pol," he'd said more than once, coming up with some reason why no, he couldn't stay and talk in the mess hall, or whatever it was she had most recently attempted to engage him in.

So she had simply ceased her attempts. He was no doubt right to distance himself from her, especially if his unfortunate glimpse of Vulcan sexuality had dismayed him that much.

Of course, at the moment she doubted her existence even really registered in his consciousness at all. His focus had narrowed down to a swath of destruction through his hometown and the sister no one in his family had heard from yet. The captain had told her there was little question she was among the dead. Tucker himself was silent on the subject, but his face was so stormy and his shoulders so set that any conversation about the attack broke off the moment other crewmen saw him enter a room.

x x x

"Have you heard anything about your sister?" she asked late one night, about a week after the attack, when she ran into him in the mess hall.

"I wish to hell people would stop asking me that!"

"I apologize. I will not ask again." She had thought he looked a bit less formidable than usual, perhaps because he was sweaty and red-faced, clearly fresh from the gym and stopping in just long enough to get some water. It was almost midnight – an odd time for someone on his shift to be exercising, but then Tucker was probably having trouble with sleep again.

He ran his fingers through hair that had turned dark with perspiration. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just … it's a very frustrating situation. No, we haven't heard anything. I just wish I could get home faster."

"Your frustration is understandable."

He looked at her then for a long moment, as if he might have more to say, but then he shook his head slightly and said, "Well, good night."

She'd wanted to say "I grieve with thee." But if he hadn't welcomed a question about his sister's status, she doubted he would appreciate that, either.

x x x

In the weeks since he'd finally accepted that Lizzie was lost, Trip had felt alone in brand new ways he'd never imagined before.

He'd felt alone in his own family. It was not that they had pushed him away, but he was still so far out that there was an inevitable delay in every communication. That made everything a little stiffer. And then perhaps because they were there and they could see the devastation firsthand, they had given up hope for Lizzie long before he did. He'd been very angry and hurt about that. He understood it better now, when even he accepted that there was no way Lizzie was an unidentified patient in a hospital room somewhere, or still trapped under part of a building that hadn't been entirely vaporized. Perhaps in exasperation, his mother had even sent him a diagram of the vaporized area superimposed over an older map of their neighborhood and their house, which Lizzie had been staying in while his parents were away.

His poor father could barely speak at all. It had been his sabbatical that had taken them to Ireland, and his idea to ask Lizzie if she wanted to house-sit for them.

He also felt alone because his loss was not really that bad compared to so many others' – his own father's, for example. The news feeds were full of stories about the parent who had left home to go to work or do some shopping and then gone back to a gigantic hole in the ground, or of children who had gone to play at a friend's house and never returned. An unfortunately-placed Little League tournament had meant a staggering loss from one small town in Cuba. In his hometown, both of Lisa's parents had perished. His arch-rival turned friend Bobby McMullen had lost a sister, a nephew, and both parents. The Garcias, the Billirises and the Li's were gone. The entire block he grew up on had been annihilated.

He felt alone among the crew, too, for only he had lost a member of his immediate family, though it seemed _everyone_ knew someone who was lost – an old friend, a friend's relative, a relative's friend. So it was a tragedy for them, too, but generally not as deeply painful a loss. This was probably why he often heard them buzzing among themselves about the gory details with a kind of feverish excitement that could make him feel either furious or nauseated or exhausted, depending on the day – at least until they noticed he was there, and clammed up.

Malcolm had tried to get him to talk about it, but backed off when Trip was having none of it. He'd then ruminated endlessly about the construction and capabilities of the alien weapon until Trip had asked him to please shut the hell up about that, too.

Meanwhile, Archer was busy huddling with Forrest about the military and diplomatic implications of what had happened. He had become obsessed with the information the Suliban had given him and how best to persuade Starfleet to take it seriously. Trip was more than happy to leave him to it.

And T'Pol – but any distance there had been his own damned doing. He regretted it sometimes, especially when she looked at him with her brown eyes full of sympathy. He suspected that in her, at least, he might have found a quiet, calm port in the storm. But it was surely for the best to maintain his recent resolution there, for all the same reasons as before.

Most of all, of course, he missed Elizabeth. He and she had shared a special bond, for they were only a couple of years apart, close enough to be in school together a good part of the time. He could kick himself across half the galaxy for how little he had attempted to keep in touch with his baby sister over the course of this mission. She had written, he had written, she had written … and that was about it, except for birthday greetings. He had relied on his mother to relay information back and forth. He had three letters from Lizzie in his files on board. Just three. And they were over a year old. And now there would be nothing more, ever.

But feeling sorry for himself hardly helped matters, with so many dead, and his sister just one of millions, and everyone on the planet at imminent risk of destruction.

It all felt like a never-ending bad dream from which he could never wake up – which meant there was little relief in waking from his 'real' nightmares into the darkness of his cabin, except of course that at least he knew _he_ was still alive.

And that was perhaps the most awful thing, really: the relief that he was still here, when she wasn't.

x x x

Running the engines at high warp for weeks was taking its toll_._ Tucker sat at his small work station in Engineering, juggling various diagnostic reports, trying to balance their need for speed versus mounting evidence of wear and tear. They only needed to get home now – but they _did_ need to get home.

"Sir?"

He looked up at his second tiredly. "Yeah?"

Hess looked a bit wary. They all did lately. His nerves were frayed, and his poor staff knew it all too well. "I was wondering…"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever figure out what was going on with the anti-matter injectors?"

He squinted at her. "Does it matter?"

She looked concerned. "You don't think it does?"

"I'm seeing plenty of problems, but antimatter injection hasn't even made the top ten yet."

"If we needed to head back out quickly…"

He blinked. The truth was he'd simply let those injectors fall off his list of priorities. "So we'll make sure they replace them all at Jupiter Station, or stock a bunch of extras. Problem solved."

"Aren't you still a little curious what happened?"

"No."

She stared at him as if she didn't recognize him.

He tried to swallow a surge of irritation. "Look. If you've really got spare time you _want _to devote to that little mystery, you're welcome to it. I've got more immediate concerns."

"Then you won't mind…?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Where are the three assemblies we pulled?"

He looked blankly at her.

Now she was really looking concerned. He had always prided himself on knowing exactly where everything in his department was, and he had drilled his staff to be the same way. It prevented waste and needlessly duplicated effort. He looked around his little work area, though that was pointless. There was no room in Engineering to leave stuff just sitting around – it had to be stowed. And it had been weeks. His memory was completely blank. For all he knew he'd thrown them in solid waste recycling, though that would have been a criminal waste of expensive components. "I have no idea."

"Okay, don't worry, I'll look," she said quickly, then added, "When I have time, of course."

He nodded, rattled. Maybe lack of sleep was really doing something bad to him. Maybe it was time to ask Phlox if there was something he could take.

Once he got a little further down this list of problems, maybe.

x x x

T'Pol looked down at the delicate crystalline item in her hands. "Ensign Rao could run a sub-molecular scan," she said. "It may determine the cause of this failure."

"That'd be great," Hess said. "Thanks." She handed over a different case. "This contains two that haven't failed yet. If he could check those too, maybe we could find out if there's some stress we're not aware of."

"When did the original failure occur?" T'Pol asked.

"A few weeks ago," Hess said. "Just before we found out about the attack on Earth." She smiled nervously. "I guess that kind of pushed it off the radar."

Actually, the attack had been over a month ago. T'Pol had noticed that Humans often underestimated the passage of time. _Off the radar_, she knew,could be translated as _not showing up on scans. _As in _not worth focusing on; unimportant. _Humans were also often slow to update their technological metaphors. "Commander Tucker is usually very inquisitive about such matters." Indeed, Tucker could sometimes become rather irritating in his quest for an immediate answer.

Hess smiled tightly. "Keeping the engines running this hard requires a great deal of time and attention."

T'Pol had become increasingly concerned about Tucker's haggard appearance, apparent isolation, and evident ill humor. "How is Commander Tucker, in your estimation?"

Hess's posture stiffened. "He's fine."

"He is obviously suffering from a deeply emotional loss, and he also does not appear to be getting enough sleep. It would be understandable if he might be encountering some challenges in his work."

"We're _all _pretty rattled by what happened, ma'm."

"Then you have no concerns about the operation of your department?" T'Pol gazed calmly at the woman, waiting.

Hess licked her lips and shuffled from foot to foot – clear signs of Human discomfort. After a long moment, she said, "No, ma'am, no serious concerns."

T'Pol was not impressed by misguided loyalty, though by now she understood the tendency. "May I assume, then, that you may have some _minor _concerns?"

Hess scowled. "There's perhaps a little more tension than usual … some distraction. We're _all _feeling a great deal of anxiety to get home. That's only _Human_ in circumstances like these."

T'Pol didn't miss the slightly hostile emphasis on "Human." She'd been encountering this more frequently; the attack on Earth had inspired a number of comments and attitudes among the crew that she would characterize as tribalistic. Judging from the news feeds, it was even more common on the planet. But this was perhaps understandable, especially since the Vulcan High Command had not as yet expressed any intention to help defend Earth from its new enemy with anything more than sage counsel. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll get a report on this for you as soon as possible."

It bemused T'Pol that she was nearly as anxious to get back to Earth as the rest of the crew. She wanted to learn more about what had happened. In particular, she wanted to know if any of the evidence Starfleet had managed to gather could corroborate the theory suggested by the Sulibans' contact. The captain appeared to have eagerly seized on the information, which was perhaps to be expected since it was the only actionable information they had, but this struck her as potentially quite dangerous. There was no valid reason to trust their informant.

She looked down at the components on her desk. She would give them to Ensign Rao. Without any stops to investigate phenomena on the way back, her science team was growing restless. It would be good to give them a mystery of some kind to investigate, even if T'Pol suspected the matter was not truly urgent. If it were, even a distressed Tucker would not have let it go without attention this long.

x x x

T'Pol went to Engineering. "Lieutenant," she said, raising her voice to be heard by Hess, who was standing in front of the warp engine control panel. "I have the results of those scans. Is Commander Tucker available to go over them with us?"

Hess slid down the short ladder. "He and Rostov are trying to track down a problem with cooling in the starboard nacelle. Can I let him know you want a meeting?"

"Yes, but I believe it should be scheduled as soon as possible."

"Then you have concerns about the other two injector assemblies, too?"

"I do," T'Pol said. "I believe they are nearing the end of their useful life. Based on the specifications you gave us, there appears to have been a significant flaw in their manufacture."

Hess sighed. "That's another reason to be glad we're almost home, then."

x x x

The meeting occurred a few hours later at Tucker's tiny work station in Engineering. He was still grimy from whatever he had been doing in the nacelle. "So what's the story?" he said, his tone curt.

"Ensign Rao's full report has been transmitted to both of you," T'Pol said. "But in essence, all the injector lenses we examined have experienced a significant amount of micro-fracturing, weakening the overall structure and increasing the likelihood of total failure."

"That shouldn't be happening," Tucker said.

She didn't bother to reply to such an obvious statement of fact.

He scowled. "Any idea _why_ it's happening?"

"Ensign Rao believes the dilithium used in these lenses was cut from some kind of cultured dilithium rather than natural crystals. There is a regular pattern of extremely fine lithium intrusion. It would not be easy to detect unless you sectioned the material."

Tucker sighed. "Which would require sacrificing a whole lens, which would cost a fortune. Okay, so that would have made these a lot cheaper to manufacture, and that's definitely not what the specs called for. Apparently someone thought they could make an easy buck." He stared off at a distance. "Hess, why don't you carry on with this, since you're the one who got it started – and it's a damned good thing that you did. I want a full engineering report we can transmit to Starfleet, along with Ensign Rao's findings. Let them know we're going to need a whole new set of injectors, and I want a full set of spares, too."

"Yes sir," Hess said.

A vein had risen noticeably on Tucker's temple, as T'Pol had often observed when he was angry or under stress. He said, "I hope they bring criminal charges against somebody. We could have ended up floating in space a lifetime away from home, or from anywhere else, for that matter. If you ask me, whoever did this should be taken out and _shot_._"_

T'Pol stared at him in some consternation.

Hess gave her a quick, embarrassed glance. "I'd better get back to work."

"Yes. Great job, Hess," Tucker said. "Thanks, T'Pol. Tell Ensign Rao thanks for us, too. Right now I've got another nacelle to check on." He started to walk off.

"Commander," T'Pol said.

He stopped. "Yes?"

She lowered her voice and stepped closer to him. There was not much privacy in Engineering, though she believed the noise of the engines drowned out much that other Humans could hear. "You congratulated Lieutenant Hess for following through on this issue. Am I correct in concluding that you yourself did not consider it a priority?"

His face turned red. "Yes."

"That strikes me as rather uncharacteristic of you."

"In case you haven't noticed, we've been running flat out at Warp 5 for seven weeks straight. I've had more immediate concerns."

"Perhaps personal issues have proven to be a distraction as well."

He glared at her. "What do you want to do, Sub-Commander? Put me on report? You can't confine me to quarters; we're still running at Warp 5."

"I was not suggesting anything of the kind. However, I do feel that perhaps you should consult Dr. Phlox about this lapse."

"I _told _you, we're been running at Warp 5 for six weeks straight. So if it was a _lapse_, it was one any other chief engineer could have made just as easily." He was getting loud; several crewmen looked over before T'Pol looked back at them and they turned away again.

She lowered her voice, hoping it would encourage him to do the same. "It is my understanding that Humans sometimes require professional help to deal successfully with traumatic personal issues."

Instead, his volume rose even higher. "Unlike Vulcans, right? You people just go meditate and everything is all hunky dory again. I bet you probably haven't even thought twice about – " He stopped suddenly.

"About what?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. He sighed and straightened into an attitude of military attention, which from him often struck her, somewhat paradoxically, as insubordinate. "Yes, ma'm, I'll go see Phlox. Now if you don't mind, I've got stuff to do here and you're just getting in the way."

"I could assist you."

"Thanks, but that's the _last _thing I need."

It was fascinating how a simple remark could resound with a sensation not unlike a physical blow. T'Pol turned on her heel and headed for the hatch. She had learned long ago that Humans sometimes attacked when they felt cornered. It was illogical to take Tucker's words as a personal rejection.

This was especially true given that the actual personal rejection had occurred weeks ago, and by now should have lost its power to disappoint her. Really, this little professional dispute was nothing more than business as usual.

She would endeavor not to let it affect her in any way.

Even if that was clearly going to require some effort.

x x x

Trip ran and ran and ran. He knew that if he exhausted himself thoroughly, sleep might come quickly … and if he was _very_ lucky, he would wake in the morning instead of in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare. It horrified him that just as they were heading out on this vital mission, the doctor was threatening to cut him off from the sedatives. Since those were his only _reliable_ way to get a good night's sleep, he tried this instead at least every other night. And once in awhile, it even worked.

Besides, he found it soothing. He just focused on his feet hitting the treadmill, his body working, his pulse pounding, running as hard as he could from his own endlessly churning thoughts.

When he stopped by the mess hall to gulp down some cold water on his way back to his quarters, he was probably still breathing too hard to hear T'Pol come in behind him, for when he turned she was standing there like an apparition.

He stared blankly at her. She and he had not had many interactions outside of staff meetings, or the occasional shared bridge duty shifts, though he and Hess had continued to cc her on new developments with the anti-matter injectors. That issue had proven more frustrating than he had ever imagined. There was only one contractor – now under investigation – who made that part, and they had not had much inventory. Jupiter Station had managed to replace most of _Enterprise's _injectors, but not all, which left them with only their original spares. So, they really had to hope the mission wouldn't take more than a couple of years, which was probably a fairly moot point now if they wanted to save the planet. Trip had at least managed to wangle a supply of uncut crystals. He figured he could try to cut and polish some lenses himself if they got desperate.

Meanwhile, in the last senior staff meeting before their launch today, the captain had announced that the Vulcan High Command had recalled T'Pol. Clearly, they wanted nothing to do with this expedition to the Expanse. As usual, they were being more of a hindrance than a help.

"I have one request," T'Pol had announced at the meeting. "I do not wish to have any 'going away' party given in my honor. Under the circumstances I do not feel it would be appropriate."

Yeah right, he'd thought. He knew that really she was just scared of parties.

"T'Pol," he said now, nodding politely.

"Mr. Tucker," she said, and turned to ask for chamomile tea.

Would she miss that tea when she was back at home? They had been 'given permission' to drop her at Vulcan. This struck Trip as a rather odd thing for Archer to request, and he wondered if the captain had been hoping it would somehow shame the Vulcans into softening their position in some way – which, if true, would just prove that Archer really didn't understand Vulcans at all.

"Glad to be heading home?" he asked.

"No."

"Rude of me to suggest you'd have feelings one way or the other about it, I suppose," he said, unable to resist one last poke. He knew she didn't want to go. He wasn't sure if he'd gotten good at reading Vulcans or if T'Pol was just particularly easy to read, but her displeasure with the order had been obvious to him from the beginning.

"I believe my skills would be very useful to this mission. It is not logical for the High Command to prevent me from participating."

"I'm sure they're just trying to protect you." At least there was some comfort in thinking that _she _would survive, even if they didn't. It was nice to think that _someone_ would remember them.

She said nothing.

"And hey, at least you won't have to _smell _us anymore." He knew he must reek particularly badly at the moment.

She gave him an oddly wounded look and turned to go.

Damn it. What the hell _was_ that look, anyway? How come nobody else in the galaxy could make him feel like such an asshole with just one glance?

"It's been a pleasure serving with you, T'Pol," he said quickly, before she could make it out the door. "I know you might find it hard to believe, but I really mean that." He swallowed hard. This was most likely the closest he would get to goodbye with her.

She just stopped and looked back at him with a quick nod, and left.

She really hadn't had much to say to him lately, not that he could blame her. He'd been alternating between snarling and brooding, and he wasn't even sure they were still friends, really.

_Live long and prosper_, he thought wistfully, finally summoning up the salute he had learned from Ambassador V'Lar too late for it to matter. Too bad, because it would have been appropriate. He sincerely hoped she would live long and prosper, safe on Vulcan.

And this wasn't any Vulcan's fight. Which was fine. Which was appropriate. Which was freeing, really. Because right now all that really mattered was finding those Xindi bastards and stopping them by any means necessary.


End file.
